The Prodigy
by TheProdigy23
Summary: The name Harry Potter is a household name. It’s a well-loved story about a famous orphan child brought up alone … but was he? J. K. Rowling left something out, she didn’t think you could handle it; she didn’t want you to know …
1. What They Didn't Want You to Know

Disclaimer: I do not take credit for the idea of Harry Potter or anything to do with it, except for this story.

Author's note: I do not like this first book, I like the others that I have written but I do not like this one. It's just to slow, and there is not enough Jay in it. But it needed to be done; you will see at the end, it's the intro. I will be writing all seven books, I have written three and a half of the books so far and continuing. So just hold on tight through this book and see how long it takes you to guess Jay's secret(s).

**The Prodigy**

_I have been blinded by the light_

_Now looking at the darkness,_

_I have never seen so clear_

**What They Didn't Want You to Know**

The name Harry Potter is a household name. It's a story of a young boy who finds out he is a wizard. A wizard that when he was just a baby took out the most powerful sorcerer of all time: Lord Voldemort. J. K. Rowling brought this famous, modest, mischief boy into our life's and heart's but she left something out, she didn't think you could handle it; she didn't want you to know …

– CHAPTER ONE –

**The Boy Who Lived**

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs Dursley was thin, blond and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs Potter was Mrs Dursley sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact Mrs Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had two twin boys, but they had never even seen them. These boys were another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his highchair.

None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half-past eight, Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the wall. "Little tyke," chortled Mr Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he had noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr Dursley didn't realise what he had seen – then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been the trick of the light. Mr Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive – no, _looking _at the sign; cats couldn't read signs_ or _maps. Mr Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes – the get-up you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdoes standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older then he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it stuck Mr Dursley that this probably some silly stunt – these people were obviously collecting for something ... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr Dursley arrived in the Grunnings car park, his mind back on drills.

Mr Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his leg and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the baker's opposite his work.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. These lots were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard –"

"– Yes, their son, Harry –"

"What about Jay?"

"Not a scratch on him–"

Mr Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his moustache, thinking ... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people out there called Potter who had two sons called Harry and Jay. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his two nephews were called Harry and Jay. He'd never even seen the boys. Their names might have been Harvey or Jared. There was no point in worrying Mrs Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her – if he'd had a sister like that ... but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell over. It was a few second before Mr Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passers-by stare: "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr Dursley stood rooted on the spot. A complete stranger had hugged him. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagining.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw – which didn't improve his mood – was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around his eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior, Mr Dursley wondered? Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into his house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learnt a new word ("Shan't"). Mr Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newsreader allowed himself to grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be anymore showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early – it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs Dursley came into the living room with two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er – Petunia, dear – you haven't heard from your sister lately have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they did pretend she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr Dursley mumbled. "Owls ... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs Dursley.

"Well, I just thought ... maybe ... it was something to do with ... you know ... her lot."

Mrs Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr Dursley wonder whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter". He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their two sons – they would be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't they?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs Dursley stiffly.

"What are they called again? Harvey and Jared, isn't it?"

"Harry and Jay. Two nasty common names, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it was waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did ... if it got out that they were relater to a pair of – well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursley got into bed. Mrs Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind ... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on. He yawned and turned over. It couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was.

Mr Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed or an owl hooted overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen in Privet Drive. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realise he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He had found what he was looking for in his pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again – the next street lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left in the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby cat, but it was gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls ... shooting stars ... well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down it Kent – I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate in eleven year."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being down right careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on: "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Know seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you like a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone –"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this "You-Know-You" nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was sucking on a sherbet lemon, seemed not to notice. "It gets so confusing if we keep saying "You-Know-Who". I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know – oh, all right, Voldemort – was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too – well – noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day, for neither as a cat or as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they're – dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James ... I can't believe it ... I didn't want to believe it ... Oh Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know ... I know ..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill one of the Potter's sons: Harry. But – he couldn't, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke – and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's – it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill that little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

"And what about the other son, Jay?"

"Apparently he hasn't got a scratch on him. Lucky little guy."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very old watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little plants were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose it you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry and Jay to their aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."

"You don't mean – you couldn't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore – you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son – I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry and Jay Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "Their aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when they are older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? Really these people well never understand them! And Harry will be famous – a legend – I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future – there will be books written about Harry – every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed and then said, "Yes – yes, you're right, of course. But how are the boys getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry and Jay underneath it.

"Hagrid's bring them."

"You think it – wise – to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?""

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "But you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to – what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looker up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled up to a roar as they both looked up at the sky – and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild – long tangles of bushy black hair and bread hid most of his face, he had hands the size of dustbin lids and feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorbike?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir – house was almost destroyed but I got them out of there before the Muggles started swarmin' around. Harry fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol and Jay was asleep when I got to the house."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead, they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where –?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't, scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee, which is a perfect map of the London Underground. But Hagrid, where is Jay?"

"I put him in my coat, sir. I couldn't hold both of them."

"Well – give them here, Hagrid – we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and then Hagrid handed Jay over to Professor McGonagall. They turned towards the Dursleys' house.

"Could I – could I say goodbye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid.

He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and Jay and gave them, what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shh!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-can't stand it – Lily an' James dead – an' their poor little boys off to live with Muggles –"

"Yes, yes it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whimpered, patting Hagrid, gingerly on the arm as they stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. They laid the two boys gently on the doorstep. Professor McGonagall walked back to Hagrid but Dumbledore took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the two little bundles; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore eyes seemed to have gone out

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice. "I'll best get this bike away from here. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself on to the motorbike and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. "And be good … Jay Lily Potter." He turned on his heels and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he and his brother would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that they would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley ... Harry couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter – the boy who lived!"

After thoughts: Just remember, I do not like this book. Just wait till second and then fourth and then the fifth, oh and then there's seven. I have some really good ideas for them (not discrediting the third or sixth, but the others are, well I think, going to turn out better). Stick with it, please.


	2. 1:2: The Vanishing Glass

Anyway, that was the intro, this chapters better - you get to meet Jay (Well, at least some of him - he evolves through out the books ... hopefully). Anyway, keep reading, it gets better and post your reviews, i like to hear what you think.

– CHAPTER TWO –

**The Vanishing Glass**

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their two nephews on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun had risen on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr Dursley had seen that fateful news report about owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of picture of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bobble hats – but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large, blond boy riding his first bike, on a roundabout at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that two other boys lived in the house too.

Yet there was one of them, Harry Potter, asleep at the moment but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. His Aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the cooker. He rolled on to his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorbike in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.

His aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Harry.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything to be perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing..."

Dudley's birthday – how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them; he put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he and his brother, Jay, slept.

When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise – unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punch-bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast, he guessed it ran in the family because Jay was also very fast, faster then Harry actually.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier then he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's and Dudley was about four times bigger then he was. Harry had a thin face, knobby knees, black hair and bright-green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of sticky tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had got it.

"In the car crush when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions – that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way – all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his think, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

As Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, his twin brother, Jay, walked into the living room from his daily jog. Though they might be twins, Harry and Jay didn't look anything a like. He had short hair, which he always spiked to show the uniqueness of its colour; it was a very dark brown at the roots but as it made its way to the tips it turned to a light blond. Jay, spite the fact that he lived in the cupboard with Harry, was quite tall for his age and quite blocky. Jay loved to get outside and do some exercise and he lived for adventure (which didn't clash well with living with the Dursleys). But the strangest thing about him was his eyes; he had red eyes, which made him look evil, but in real fact he was kind and always looked out for his twin brother when he got in trouble, which was mainly from Dudley. But the one thing that made Jay different from everyone else was that he had a photographic memory. This made him very smart because as soon as he would learn something it would stay in his head and could remember it even with out revising.

"Where have you been?" asked Aunt Petunia as soon as Jay walked into the kitchen. "It's Dudley's birthday! You need to get changed and back here as fast as you can before Dudley starts opening presents, quickly now, off you go!"

Jay rolled his eyes at Harry and went up stairs to get changed.

Meanwhile, Dudley was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, its here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"Alright, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger too, because she said quickly, "and we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? _Two _more presents while we're out today. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

"Today, we are here to watch and observe the first ever human being to survive with out a brain: Dudley Dursley," said a soft voice in Harry's ear. "Let's pay close attention now as he might try and do multiplication."

Harry, who had been taken a drink, coughed and spited as it came out of his nose. His brother sat down at the table and started eating his breakfast.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair. He obviously hadn't heard what Jay had said.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry, Jay and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerked her head in the direction of the two brothers.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger bars or the movies. Every year, Harry and Jay were left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry and Jay hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made them look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry and Jay like it was their fault. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boys."

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry and Jay like this, as though they weren't there – or rather, as though they were something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?"

"On holiday in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave us here," said Harry hopefully (they'd be able to watch what they wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back to find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"We won't blow up the house."

"Don't give me ideas," said Jay in a low whisper to Harry.

"I suppose we could take them to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "and leave them in the car …"

"That car's new; they're not sitting in it alone …"

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying, it had been years since he'd really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let them spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I … don't … want … them … t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. "They always sp-spoil everything!" He shot Harry and Jay a nasty grin through the gap in this mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell – "Oh, Good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically – and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their back while Dudley hits them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry and Jay who couldn't believe their luck, were sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in their life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with them, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry and Jay aside.

"I'm warning you two," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's and Jay's, "I'm warning you now boys – any funny business, anything at all – and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"We're not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly…"

"I wouldn't bother no one ever believes us," said Jay once Uncle Vernon was in the car.

This was of cause true, but it wasn't their fault that strange things often happened around them and it was no good telling the Dursleys they didn't make it happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barber's looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his fringe, which she left "to hide that horrible scar". Dudley laughed himself silly at Harry (Dudley found his bed full of sand that night, curtesy of Jay Potter). But Harry still didn't get any sleep that night dreading the next day, where he was already laughed at for their baggy clothes and sticky taped glasses. Next morning, however, Harry had got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had shaved it off. He had tried to explain that he _couldn't_ explain how it had grown back so quickly.

And then one day, while out shopping with Aunt Petunia. Dudley was making fun off Jay, while he poked him in the side of the ribs. Then, just as they bumped into some of Dudley's friends, his pants fell down, exposing his Superman underwear to all of his friends. Dudley got a whole week off school for it, too embarrassed to even show his face at school. And to Jay's great surprise, Aunt Petunia decided that Dudley must have been doing lots of exercise and losing lots of weight for his pants to fall down and he wasn't punished for it, which seemed likely because everything else seemed to be his or his brothers fault.

On the other hand, they'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchen. Dudley's gang had been chasing them us usual when, as much to Harry and Jay's surprise as anyone else's, there they were sitting on a chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from their headmistress, telling them that Harry and Jay had been climbing school buildings. But all they'd tried to do (as Harry shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught them in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, their cupboard or Mrs Figg's cabbage smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things, people at work, Harry, the council, Jay, the bank, Harry and Jay. These were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning it was motorbikes.

"… Roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorbike overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorbike," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beetroot with a moustache, "MOTORBIKES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursley hated even more than them asking question, it was, Harry and Jay talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was dream or even cartoon – they seemed to think they might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry and Jay what they wanted before they could hurry them away, they bought them a cheap lemon icy pole each. It wasn't bad either, Harry thought, licking his as they watched a gorilla scratching its head and looking remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

Harry and Jay had the best morning they'd had in a long time. They were careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting Harry. They ate in the zoo restaurant and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbockers glory wasn't big enough, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry and Jay were allowed to finish the first.

They both agreed, after the following happened, that they should have known that it was to good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in here, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a dustbin – but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself – no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up – at least he got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.

_It winked._

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to find his brother.

"Jay come here quickly!" he called over to Jay, trying not to get the attention of the Dursleys.

Jay came over to the window and his mouth dropped when he saw the snake.

Harry looked back at the snake and winked back.

The snake jerked its head towards Uncle Vernon and Dudley, and then it raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry and Jay a look that said quite plainly: _"I get that all the time."_

"I know," Harry, murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying."

"I don't think the snake can hear you let alone understand you, Harry,"

But to the two boy's surprise, the snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry and Jay peered at it.

_Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

"Was it nice there?" asked Harry

The Boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry and Jay read on: _This specimen was bred in the zoo. _"Oh, I see – so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry and Jay made them both jump. "DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling towards them as fast as could.

"Out of the way, losers," he said, throwing a fist, Jay jumped out of the way but Harry, who was caught by surprise, fell on to the concrete floor. What happened next, came so fast no one saw how it happened – one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they fell face forward into the enclosure.

Harry sat up and gaped; the glass in front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished and Dudley and Piers, who were leaning up against the glass, fell right into the water at the front of the tank. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out on to the floor – people throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past Harry and Jay, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come … Thankss, amigosss."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "Where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup a strong sweet tea while he apologised over and over again. Piers and Dudley, in the blankets they were given to dry themselves down, could only gibber. As far as Harry and Jay had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at them as it passed them, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry and Jay at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry and Jay were talking to it, weren't you?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry and Jay. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go – cupboard – stay – no meals," before he collapsed into a chair and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harry and Jay lay in their dark cupboard, (which only just fitted them both in), much later at night, wishing they had a watch. They didn't know what time it was and they couldn't be sure the Dursley were asleep yet. Until they were, they couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

They'd lived with the Dursley almost ten years, ten long miserable years, as long as they could remember, ever since they'd been babies and their parents had died in that car crash.

"Jay?"

"Mmm."

"What do you remember about that night?"

"What night?"

"The night our mum and dad died."

"A man."

"A man?"

"Yeah, an old man. He came and rescued us."

"Ohh, you don't remember the car crush?"

"No, but I do remember a house."

"The house in ruins."

"Yep."

"What about a green light?"

"Nope, just the old man and the house in ruins."

"When I think about it for a long time and strain myself to remember, I get a green light and a burning pain on my forehead," said Harry with a sigh. "I wish I could remember our old life."

"Me two little bro. I wish there were photos of our parents around the house."

"Remember when we were young and we dreamed of being picked up by a long lost relative and taken away."

"Yeah, I wish that would happen."

"What about the strangers in the street that wave to us and bow."

"What about the one that actually came up to you and shook your hand."

"Aunt Petunia was so mad."

"Pity they never came to the house and took us away."

"Pity we couldn't ask them questions about who they are? And what they were doing?"

"Pity we can't run away and never come back."

"That would be so good. And it's not like anyone will miss us."

"It's not like we have any friends."

"Thank you Dudley."

"It's just you and me,"

"We're forced to be brothers –"

"Choose to be friends. We're in for a couple of rough months, little bro."

"I know, Jay, I know …"


	3. 1:3: The Letters from No One

So how you guys taken to Jay? I think his the best. Ha, that just my weird humour. Sorry. Anyway, I'm trying to get this book out as fast as I can so we can get onto the good stuff. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Oh and I don't own Harry Potter, just Jay Potter.

Oh and I forgot to say in the first. Writing in italics means more meaning on that word or it's in some kinda letter style; you'll be able to tell the difference

– CHAPTER THREE –

**The Letter from No One**

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and Jay their longest-ever punishment. By the time they were allowed out of their cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new cine-camera, crushed his remote control airplane and, first time on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Harry and Jay were glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and the stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry Hunting.

This was why Harry and Jay spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where they could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came they would be going off to high school and, for the first time in their life, they wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had a place at Uncle Vernon's old school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry and Jay, on the other hand, were going to Stonewall High, the local comprehensive. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall," he told the brothers. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it – it might be sick."

"I wouldn't count on it," said Jay. "The stuff that comes out of Dudley's –"

"Come back here you two!" yelled Dudley has Harry and Jay ran off before Dudley could catch them.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry and Jay at Mrs Figg's. Mrs Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry and Jay watch television and gave them each a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobby sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudlekins. He looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh. Jay looked like he was about to vomit.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry and Jay went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. Harry went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said

Jay peered into the bowl.

"We have to wear elephant skin?"

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Jay rolled his eyes at Harry, which meant, "I seriously doubted that." And Harry couldn't agree more. How were they going to look on their first day at Stonewall High?

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry and Jay's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smeltings stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the letterbox and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the post, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged the Smeltings stick and went to get the post. Four things lay on the door mat: A post card from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked liked a bill and – two_ letters each for Harry and Jay._

Harry picked up all the letters and stared at his letter, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives – he didn't belong to the library so he'd never even gotten rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

_Mr H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The envelope was think and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Harry looked at Jay's letter. It was the exact same, except for the name. He turned the envelope over, his hand trembling; Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter "H"

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter-bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard. He sat down next to Jay and gave his letter to him. Jay stared down at the letter and began to open it, just as Harry was doing.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk …"

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry and Jay have something!"

Harry and Jay were at the point of unfolding their letters, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when Uncle Vernon jerked them sharply out of their hands.

"That's _mine_!" said Harry and Jay at once

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking one of the letters open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness – Vernon"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry, Jay and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smeltings stick.

"I want to read the letter," he said loudly.

"_I_ want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it is _mine_."

"Get out, all of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letters back inside their envelope.

Harry didn't move.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.

"Let _me _see it!" demanded Dudley.

"Why should you they're not your letters," said Jay.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon and shoved the three of them out into the hall, slamming the kitchen

door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, joined Jay on the floor listening though the crack between the door and the floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address – how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching – spying – might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want –"

"No," he said firmly. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer … yes, that's best … we won't do anything …"

"But –"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia, let alone two! Didn't we swear when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry and Jay in their cupboard.

"Where's our letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to us?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burnt it."

"It was _not_ a mistake," said Harry angrily. "It had our cupboard on it."

"Yeah, who else lives in a cupboard?" said Jay

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er – yes – about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking … you two are really getting a bit big for it … we think it might be nice if you move into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask question!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursley's house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry and Jay one trip upstairs to move everything they owned from the cupboard to this room. Harry sat down on the bed as Jay set up the other bed. He looked around the room. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old cine-camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had driven over next door's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been cancelled; there was a large bird-cage which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air-rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched. Jay pulled one down and began to read on the newly set up bed.

From down stairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother: "I don't _want_ them in there … I _need_ that room … make them get out …"

Harry sighed and stretched out on his bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smeltings stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof and he still didn't get his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the post arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry and Jay, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smeltings stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's two more! _Mr H and J Potter, the Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive –"_

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry and Jay right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind and Jay trying to get between him and Dudley. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit by a lot of Smeltings stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry and Jay's letters clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard – I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry and Jay. "Dudley – go – just go."

Harry walked around and around his new room. While Jay lay on one of the beds reading a new book.

"They know we've moved rooms," said Harry.

"Freaky."

"And they know we didn't get the first letter."

"Weird."

"So they tried to get us another one."

"They really want us to read those letters."

"Surly they would try again?"

"Probably."

"So we should help them?"

"Yeah, should help them."

"And I have a plan that won't fail"

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently with Jay. They stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights or making a sound so the Dursleys didn't wake.

They were going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. Harry's heart hammered as he slowly crept across the dark hall towards the front door –

"AAAAARRRGH!"

Harry leapt into the air and fell on top of Jay who was behind him – he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat – something _alive_!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realised that the big squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry and Jay didn't do exactly what they'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry and Jay for about an hour and then told them to go make a cup of tea. Harry and Jay shuffled miserably off into the kitchen.

"Your planed failed," said Jay quietly

"Are you on my side or not?"

By the time they'd gotten back, the post had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see six letters addressed in green ink.

"I want –" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into little pieces before their eyes.

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the letterbox.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "If they can't deliver them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruit cake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no fewer than twelve letters arrived for Harry and Jay. As they couldn't go though the letterbox they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs toilet.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. No fewer then twenty-four letters addressed to Harry and Jay found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two-dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living-room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food mixer.

"Who on earth wants to talk to _you_ this badly?" Dudley asked Harry and Jay in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them happily as he spread marmalade on his newspaper, "no damn letter today, not one bleming letter –"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chummy as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty so letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry and Jay leapt into the air trying to catch one –

"Out! OUT!"

Jay caught one and had to begun to read it but the letter got knocked out of his hands by Uncle Vernon, who seized him around the waist and then grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck and threw them into the hall. Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes, ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his moustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding towards the motorway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him around the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, video and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turning and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off … shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Harry and Jay shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets.

As Dudley slept, the brothers talked.

"So did you read what the letter said," whispered Harry when he knew for sure that the Dursleys were asleep.

"Only a bit of it."

"Well, what did it say?

"Dear Mr J. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at – and then it got taken out of my hand."

"A place at what?"

"I'm guessing a school."

"When did we get put down to go to any school?"

"Maybe our parents put our names down for it when we were born? It would explain why the Dursley don't want us to go."

"Yeah, maybe…"

Harry turned his head and started too stare down at the lights of passing cars, wondering …

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but are any of you Mr H. Potter or Mr J. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up two letters so they could read the two green ink addresses:

_Mr H. Potter_

_Room 17_

_Railview Hotel_

_Cokeworth_

_Mr J. Potter_

_Room 17_

_Railview Hotel_

_Cokeworth_

Harry made a grab for the letters but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them all," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bridge and at the top of a multi-story car park.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a _television_."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday – and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television – then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry and Jay's eleventh birthday. Of course, their birthdays were never exactly fun – last year, the Dursleys had given them a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Harry got a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see a smiling face. Jay mouthed to him eleven, Harry smiled back.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was also smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out to sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain; there was no television in there.

"Strom forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowing boat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a packet of crisps each and five bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty crisps packets just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver post. Harry privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door and Harry and Jay were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

"Eleven hey," said Jay as they found a spot to sleep.

"Yeah what a fun birthday it's going to be," replied Harry. "Sleeping in a hut."

"Yeah but who cares? Not me, I'm turning eleven."

Harry laughed "And what are you getting for your birthday?"

"A 'Happy birthday Jay', from my brother."

"Fair enough, good night Jay."

"Good night little bro and don't forget to sleep ok."

"Yeah, yeah."

But as the storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on, Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. The low rolls of thunder that started near midnight drowned Dudley's snores. Jay just slept silently through it all with out a sound. The light dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter-writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak out side. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds … twenty … ten – nine – maybe he'd wake Dudley and Jay up, just to annoy them – three – two – one –

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry say bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.


	4. 1:4: The Keeper of Keys

Thanks for everyone reviews, i love to hear what you guys have to say! Please keep on reading and posting your thoughts, thank you. Oh, and i wish that i owned Harry Potter but i don't, just this story, thank you.

– CHAPTER FOUR –

**The Keeper of Keys**

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" He said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hand – now they knew what had been in that long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you – I'm armed"

There was a pause. Then –

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash, landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear and Jay still lay on the floor asleep.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here's Jay!" said the giant looking down at Jay. "He can sleep, can't he? JAY!" he cried right in his ear.

"WHAT! I'm awake," said Jay sleepy turning to face the giant. "AAAAAARRRRRRRHHHHHHH! Don't do that"

"Sorry Jay just need you awake for this that's all."

"You nearly gave me a heart attack. Why did you have to have your face so close?"

"Sorry. An' here's Harry over here," said the giant turning to look at Harry.

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yeh dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said, "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant. He reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway – Harry, Jay," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here – I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right. Just the same."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box and handed it to Harry. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Harry and Jay _written on it in green icing.

Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chucked.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry and Jay's whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled crisp packets in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth wash over him as though he'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pocket of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs and a bottle of some amber liquid which he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausages. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' any more, Dursley, don' worry."

He passed the sausages to Harry and Jay, who were so hungry, took them and started to eat. Harry had never tasted anything so wonderful, but he still couldn't take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

He took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm keeper of keys at Hogwarts – yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' couse."

"Er - no," said Harry.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them that should be sorry! I knew yeh two weren't gettin' yeh letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learnt it all?"

"All what?" asked Jay?

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," He growled at the Dursley, "that these boys – these boys! – Knows nothin' – about ANYTHING?"

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad.

"I know some things," he said. "I can, you know, do math's and stuff and Jay's brilliant, top of the class."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "abou' our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?"

"Are we going to live on Mars?" said Jay excitedly. "Are we some freak aliens that the government is trying to cover up?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "mimblewimble". Hagrid stared wildly at Harry and Jay.

"But yeh must know about yer mum and dad," he said. "I mean, they're, you're famous."

"What? My – our mum and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Did they attack earth because they wanted to live here on earth because Mars was running out of food and water but they died in the cross fire and the government didn't want the whole of Mars attacking earths so they gave us to them?" said Jay pointing to the Dursleys. "And now you guys want us back and you're going to take us back to Mars. Oh, and does this mean we have some wicked power that's out of this world?"

"What are you on about?" said Hagrid. He looked into the eyes of Harry and Jay Potter and continued. "Yeh don't know, do ya ... yeh don't know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry and Jay with a bewildered stare.

"Yeh don't know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. "Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boys anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told them? Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer them? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from them all these years?"

"Kept what from us?" said Harry eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry, Jay – yeh wizards.

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"There goes my alien theory out the window," said Jay. "At least we still have cool powers."

"A what?" gasped Harry?

"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good one, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum and a dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon its abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Harry and Jay stretched out their hands to take their yellowish envelope Hagrid had handed them. Harry's envelope was addressed in emerald green to _Mr H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. _He pulled out the letter and read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, first Class, Grand Sorc, Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 3 September. We await your owl by no later that 31 July._

_Yours sincerely_

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and he couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled out an owl – a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl – a long quill and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note, which Harry could read upside down:

_Dear Mr Dumbledore_

_Given Harry and Jay their letters. Taken them to buy their things tomorrow._

_Weather's horrible. Hope you're well._

_Hagrid_

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in his beak, went to the door and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Harry realised his mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"They will not be going," he said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop them," he said.

"A what?" said Jay, interested.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid. "It's what we call non-magic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took them in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of them! Wizards, indeed!"

"You knew?" said Harry. "You knew we were a – a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that – that school – and came home every holiday with her pockets full of frogspawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was – a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were son proud to have a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had wanted to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at that school and they left and got married and had you two, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as – as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you two!"

Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told us they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily and James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowing his own story when every kid in the world knows his name!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yer, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don't know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh – but someone's gotta – yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, its best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh – mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it..."

He sat down stared into the fire for a few seconds and then said, "It's begins, I suppose, with a person called – but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows –"

"Who?"

"Well – I don't like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' Gargoyles, you two, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went ... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..."

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.

"Or just say it and get it over and done with," replied Jay.

"You can't just say, you have no idea what he was like and no I can't spell it. Ok all right – Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this – this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too – some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, you two, dark days. Didn't know who ter trust didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches ... terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him – an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em ... maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You guys were only a year old. He came ter yer house an' – an' –"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad – knew yer mum an' dad, nicest people yeh could find – anyway –

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then – an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing – he tried to kill you Harry. Want ter kill all of you, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh – took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even – but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witch an' wizard of the age – the Mckinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts – an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before – and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life – a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid was watching him sadly.

"Took yeh two from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Somehow, Jay, you didn't have a scratch on yeh, even though the ruined house was all over yeh, it, was a miracle yeh didn' die," Hagrid added with another sniffle, "and then I brought yeh ter this lot..."

"Are you meaning to say that some powerful evil wizard thingy killed our parents but couldn't kill my brother and now what, he's out there some where looking for him wanting to finnish the job," said Jay.

"It's all a load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry and Jay jumped; they had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have gotten back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now listen here, boys," he snarled. "I accept there's something strange about you two, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured – and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off with out them in my opinion – asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types – just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end –"

But at that moment, Hagrid leap from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley – I'm warning you – one more word..."

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol – sorry – I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried to kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see ... he was gettin' more an' more powerful – why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who were on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on – I dunno what it was no one does – but somethin' about you stumped him, alright."

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? His brother? How could that possible be? He'd spent his life clouted by Dudley and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him and his brother in their cupboard? If he'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

"Hagrid," Harry said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I could have done all those things you are saying I have done."

"Yeah Hagrid. My brother may be many things but he's not a killer and how could a baby do something like that."

"I can't tell ya 'cause I don' know."

"But were not a wizard, I can't be."

To Harry's surprise, Hagrid and Jay both chuckled.

"Come on Harry, think about it."

"Have yeh ever made things happened when you was scared, or angry?"

Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it ... every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him or Jay had happened when they were upset or angry ... chased by Dudley's gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach ... dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back ... and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't he got his revenge, without even realising he was doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him?

Harry looked at Jay and they smiled at each other.

"I always knew we were different," said Jay.

They both looked at Hagrid and saw that he was positively beaming at them.

"See?" said Hagrid. "The sons of James and Lily Potter not wizards – you wait Harry, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts and you, Jay, will be the most wanted boy there."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you? They're not going?" he hissed. "They are going to Stonewall High and they will be grateful for it. I've read those letters and they need all sorts of rubbish – spell books and wands and –"

"Are they still here?" whispered Jay in Harry's ear

"If they wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop them," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's sons goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Their names have been down ever since they were born. They will be off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and they won't know themselves. They'll be with youngsters of their own sort, fer a change, an' they'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled –"

"I'M NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THEM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head. "NEVER –" he thundered, "– INSULT – ALBUS DUMBLEDORE – IN – FRONT – OF – ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley – there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them Harry and Jay saw a curly pig's tail poking though a hole in his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

He cast a sideways look at Harry and Jay under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm – er – not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff – one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take the job –"

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.

"Oh, well – I was at Hogwarts meself but I – er – got expelled, ter tell you the truth. In my third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?" questioned Jay.

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town; get all yer books an' that."

He took off his think black coat and threw it to Harry and Jay.

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."


	5. 1:5: Diagon Alley

Hey everyone, thanks for the reviews that you have put in, really inspired me to write some more. And in case you haven't notice, i have been posting a new chapter every day to get this book out of the way and get one to the other ones. Alright, injoy this chapter with Jay and see you tomorrow when i post The Journey from Platform Nine and Three Quartes and if you remember your Harry Potter facts correcty, it's the one where they meet Ron and Hermione for the first time :). And of course, i don't own Harry Potter, i wish i did, but i don't.

– CHAPTER FIVE –

**Diagon Alley**

Harry woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight.

"It was a dream," he told himself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me and my brother, were going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard."

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

"And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door," Harry thought, his heart sinking. But he still didn't open his eyes. It had been such a good dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Alright," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up."

He sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, Jay was nowhere to be seen and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Harry scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered on to the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that."

Harry tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl –"

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?"

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets – bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, mint humbugs, teabags ... finally, Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?"

"The little bronze ones."

Harry counted out five little bronze coins and the owl held out its leg so he could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then it flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up and stretched.

"Best be off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school. Where's Jay?"

But Harry wasn't listening. He was turning over the wizard's coins and looking at them. He had just thought of something, which made him feel as though the happy balloon inside him had got a puncture.

"Um – Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"Jay and I haven't got any money – and you heard Uncle Vernon last night – he won't pay for us to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anythink?"

"But if their house was destroyed –"

"They didn't keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold – an' I wouldn't' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?"

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding.

"Goblins?"

"Yeah – so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe – 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you – gettin' things from Gringotts knows he can trust me, see.

"Got everything? Where is Jay?"

"I'm here," said a voice by the door. Jay was standing there looking into the room with a big grin on his face. Harry had never seen him this happy; it was like he was complete. "I was just looking around this island. You know if the storm lasted about a minute more we would be standing on rumble now."

"Lucky for us it didn't, come, on then lets go."

Harry and Hagrid followed Jay out on to the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat.

"Flew," said Hagrid.

"Flew?"

"Yeah – but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

"Weird horses aren't they?" said Jay absentmindedly, glazing at a wide area on the rock.

Harry looked up to where Jay was staring but all he could see was the sharp, jagged edges of the rock.

"Are yeh comin' or not?" Hagrid called from the boat.

Harry and Jay climbed in the boat. Jay was still looking at that section on the rock. Harry stared at him as though he was losing it.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry and Jay another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter – er – speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Er – no," said Jay, putting his eyes away from the rock to watch Hagrid pull out the pink umbrella again, tap the boat twice on the side and they sped off towards land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked.

"Spells – enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons' guardin' the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way – Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harry sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the _Daily_ _Prophet_. Harry had learnt from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, he'd never had so many questions in his life.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore for Minister, o' couse, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does the Ministry of Magic do?" asked Jay.

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches and wizards up an' down the country side."

"Why?"

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solution to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper and they clambered up the stone steps on to the street.

Passers-by stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Harry couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, you two? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Harry, panting a bit as he ran to keep up, "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?"

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid – here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money", as he called it, gave the notes to Harry so he could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letter, you two? He asked counting his stitches.

Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Harry unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night before and read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

Uniform

_First years students will require:_

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wears_

_3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_4. One winter cloak (black, sliver fastenings)_

_Please not that all pupils' clothes should carry nametags_

Set Books

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) _by Miranda Goshawk_

A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot_

Magical Theory _by_ _Adalbert Waffling_

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch_

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _by Phyllida Spore_

Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger_

Fantastic Beasts and Where to find them _by Newt Scamander_

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble_

Other Equipment

_1 wand_

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set of glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set of brass scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

"Can we buy this all in London" Jay wondered aloud after he had finished reading his own letter.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

Harry and Jay had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator, which led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; so all Harry and Jay had to do was keep close behind him. They passed bookshops and music stores, hamburger bars and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you magic wands. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people.

"So what do you think?" said Jay in a low whisper so Hagrid couldn't hear them.

"Think about what?"

"About this Hagrid guy. How do we know he's telling the truth?"

"Well how about the glass disappearing?"

"Yeh I know we're not like the people around us, but how do we know there is more people like us? How do we know he's not taking us to some undercover place to do research on us?"

"I don't know I guess we just have to trust him."

"You are too trusting sometimes. Just because he said you had taken out some powerful dude."

"I don't trust everybody."

"Your right you don't trust three people."

"Come on Jay lets just give him a chance, Ok."

"Ok, but If I turn up on a table with needles being poked into me, you're going to pay big time."

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big bookshop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he, Jay and Hagrid could see it. Before he could mention this, Hagrid had steered them inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old barman, who was quite bald and looked like a gummy walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the barman reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping a hand each on the boy's shoulders and making their knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the barman, peering at Harry, "is this – can this be –?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old barman. "Harry Potter ... what an honor."

He hurried out front behind the bar, rushed towards Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back."

Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realising it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming and Jay looked like he was going to burst from holding in his laughter.

Then there was a scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand – I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr Potter, just can't tell you. Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!"

Harry shook hands again and again – Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. Jay just kept on making fun of him.

"It is so good to finely meet you. It seems like I've known you my whole life!"

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Jay, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"

"D-defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on – lots to buy. Come on, you two."

Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one more time and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds

Hagrid grinned at Harry.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh – mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?" asked Jay

"Oh, yeah, poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studin' outta books but then he took a year of ter get some first-hand experience ... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag – never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject – now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Harry's head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the dustbin.

"Three up ... two across..." he muttered. "Right, stand back, you two."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared – it grew wider and wider – a second later they were facing an archway large even for Hagrid, an archway on to a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at the boy's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons – all size – Copper, Bass, Pewter, and Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one of them," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn and Snowy. Several boys about Harry and Jay's age had their noses pressed against a window with a broomstick in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand – fastest ever –"

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.

"So is this place their going to stick needles in to us?" Harry asked Jay quietly.

"Ok, so I was wrong. There's a first time for everything."

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a leaning, snowy-white building, which towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was –

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps towards him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid, Harry and Jay made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry and Jay Potter's safe."

"You have the key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid and he started emptying his pockets on to the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry was watching the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've got a letter here from Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about you You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he, Harry and Jay followed Griphook towards one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

"Come on Hagrid we won't tell anyone," said Jay.

Hagrid just shook his head as Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downwards and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They climbed in – Hagrid with some difficulty – and they were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late – they plugged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and the floor.

"I never know," Harry called over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmites and stalactites?"

"Stalagmite's got an "m" in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm going to be sick."

He did look very green and when the cart stopped at last besides a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees trembling.

"Stalactites come from the roof while stalagmites come up from the ground,' said Jay as they got out of the cart.

"You're too smart for your own good, you know."

"Yeah, but what are you going to do about it?"

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"Now share nicely, this is between the two of you." smiled Hagrid.

"You mean this is all mine and Harry's?"

"Down to the last Knut."

All ours – it was incredible. The Dursley couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from them faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harry and Jay cost them to keep? All the time there had been a small fortune belonging to them, buried deep under London.

Hagrid helped Harry and Jay pile some of it into a bag each.

"The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, its easy enough. Right, that should be enough for a couple o' terms; we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine and Harry leant over the side to try and see what was down at the dark bottom but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook, with a rather nasty grin.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Harry was sure, and he leant forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least – but at first he thought it was empty. Then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, its best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart-ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life – more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding towards _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_. "Listen, you two, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit stick, so Harry and Jay entered Madam Malkin's shop together.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dears?" she said, when Jay was about to speak. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him and Jay next to Harry. She slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hullo,' said the boy, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying books and my mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing broom. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and smuggle it in somehow."

Harry and Jay swapped looks. They were strongly reminded of Dudley.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do – father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute and wishing his brother would help him out instead of laughing at him.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding towards the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and Jay and pointing at three large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He liked this boy less and less every second.

"Yes exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," Jay said staring at the boy. It seemed that Harry wasn't the only one who didn't like this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the boy, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same; they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you two done, my dears," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool, along with Jay.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

Harry was rather quite as he ate his ice cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Harry lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed colors as you wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know – not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin's.

"– and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in –"

"Yer two are not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were – he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk – you saw 'em in the Leaky Cauldron. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggle – look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"

"So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard's sport. It's like – like football in the Muggle world – everyone follows Quidditch – played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls – sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School house. There are four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers –"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Harry gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol – sorry – You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

They bought Harry and Jay's school books at a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your Friends and Befuddle your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and much, much more) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out to curses Dudley."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

Hagrid wouldn't let Harry and Jay buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for the horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor, jars of herbs, dried roots and bright powders lined the walls bundles of feathers, strings of fangs and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry and Jay, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry and Jay's list again.

"Just yer wands left – oh yeh an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Harry felt himself go red.

"You don't have to –"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what; I'll get yer each an animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at – an' I don't like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls; they're dead useful, carry yer post an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage, which held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. Jay carried another owl, but this one was a handsome eagle owl, which was wide-awake taking in the journey it was now on. Jay was speechless and couldn't stop looking at his owl. Harry couldn't stop stammering his thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don't mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now – only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand ... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to. The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read _Ollivanders: Makers of fine Wands since 382 BC_. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair, which Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strange as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions which had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair. Jay on the other hand didn't even blink.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"G'day," said Jay with a smile.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you two soon. Harry and Jay Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes, Harry. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose-to-nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where..."

Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands ... Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out in the world to do..."

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, started on Jay.

"And this is the other Potter," said Ollivander studying Jay. "My, my, you look exactly as he said you would."

"Who?"

Ollivander scanned Jay for a bit, then looked over his shoulder. His eyes meet Hagrid. "And here we have Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again ... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er – yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now – Mr Harry Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er – well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." he measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and around his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivanders wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenixes tails and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons and phoenix are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this all on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beech wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hands almost at once.

"Maple and Phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –"

Harry tried – but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.

"No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, and try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the selves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and simple ."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his hand, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the wall. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well ... how curious ... how very curious..."

He put Harry's wand back into its bow and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious ... curious..."

"Sorry," said Harry, "But what's curious?"

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen and half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter ... after all; He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great. And now," said Ollivander suddenly raising his voice, "Mr Jay Potter, your wand."

Jay stepped forward looking very excited.

"You will be the easiest customer, yet."

And without even getting out the tape measure, he went straight to the back of his shop and out of sight. Harry and Jay barely had time to swap curious looks before he was back again, holding one box.

"This wand should suit you very fine indeed," said Mr Ollivander has he held open the box for Jay to take the wand.

Jay took the wand. The second Jay's finger tips touched the wand his whole hand began to glow. Jay held the wand at arms length as it started to vibrate. It was shaking his whole body. Jay put his other hand on the wand to try and steady it but it too started to glow. The light it was radiating was blinded Harry. It lit up the entire room. Sparks where now flying out of the wand. Jay's knuckles where white as he tried to settle the wand. Then –

BANG!

The whole wand had exploded; sending balls of light all around the room. They bounced off the walls gaining speed with every second. Harry ducked and covered his head as a ball off light shot past his head.

"STOP!" shouted Jay.

Harry looked up to see the balls of light fly back into the wand. Jay was staring at them, completely white with shock and panting heavily.

Then Harry gasped in horror as he looked around the room. He had been expecting it to look like a boom had gone off but instead he saw that it was sparking clean, the dust that laid on the desk and shelves had vanished, the spindly chair that Hagrid was sitting on looked better then new and the rotting walls had been re-varnished.

"Now I say," said Mr Ollivander, after he took the wand of Jay and looked at his hand, "You're not burnt."

"Should I be?"

"No, no, this wand is definitely for you, not questions about it."

Harry and Jay paid twenty Galleons for their wands and said goodbye to Mr Ollivander as he bowed them from his shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry, Jay and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn't even notice how much people were gawping at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with two sleeping owls on their lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harry only realised where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Harry and Jay a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You are right, Harry? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Harry wasn't sure he could explain. He'd just had the best birthday of his life – and yet – he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," he said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr Ollivander ... but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't remember what for. I don't know what happened when Vol – sorry – I mean, the night my parents died."

Hagrid leant across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts; you'll be just fine. Just be yourself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts – I did – still do, 'smatter of fact and you have your brother, you'll look after your brother wont you, Jay?"

"Forever and ever."

"See your not alone there's someone starting out just like you."

Hagrid helped Harry and Jay on to the train that would take them back to the Dursleys, then handed Harry an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," he said. "Third o' September – King's Cross – It's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys send me a letter with one of yer owls; they'll know where to find me ... See yeh soon, Harry, Jay."

The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his nose against the window, but he blinked and Hagrid had gone.


	6. 1:6: The Journey from Platform 9 and 34

Hey everyone, this is one of my fav. chapters in this book, it's where Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione meet for the first time so it should be funny to how those two reacte to him.

Please send me your feedback, i love to hear from you and i do not own Harry Potter no dah.

– CHAPTER SIX –

**The Journey from Platform Nine and Three Quarters**

Harry and Jay's last month with the Dursleys wasn't fun. True, Dudley was now so scared of the two of them he wouldn't stay in the same room as them, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't shut Harry and Jay in their cupboard, force them to do anything or shout at them – in fact, they didn't speak to them at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with either Harry or Jay in it was empty. Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing having only your brother to talk to.

Harry and Jay kept to their room, with their new owls for company. Harry had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in _A History of Magic_. Jay on the other hand hadn't called his bird anything.

"It needs to be something special, something that relates to me."

Their schoolbooks were very interesting. Harry would lie on his bed reading late into the night, Hedwig and Jay's bird swooped in and out of the open window. It was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn't come in any more, because Hedwig and Jay's bird kept bringing back dead mice. Every night before he went to sleep, Harry ticked off another day on the piece of paper he had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the third.

On their last day at the Dursley's house, Harry and Jay agreed they'd better speak to their aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so they went down to the living-room where they were watching a quiz show on television. Harry cleared his throat to let them know they were there, and Dudley screamed and ran from the room.

"Er – Uncle Vernon?" said Harry in an unsure voice.

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

"Er – We need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to – to go to Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Would it be all right if you give me and Jay a lift there?"

Grunt. Harry supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you."

"Thanks." said Jay as they were about to leave the room, but they were stopped by Uncle Vernon who actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Neither Harry nor Jay said anything.

"Where is the school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Harry, realising this for the first time. He pulled the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket.

"We just take the train from platform nine and three quarters at eleven o'clock," he read.

His aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. Alright, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Maybe he's the one that's mad," said Jay in a low whisper.

"Why are you going to London?" Harry asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

Harry and Jay woke up at five o'clock the next morning. Jay went out for his daily jog and Harry who was to excited and nervous to go back to sleep got up and pulled on his jeans because he didn't want to walk into the station in his wizard's robes – he'd change on the train. He check his Hogwarts list yet again to make sure he had everything he need, saw that Hedwig and Jay's bird were safely shut in their cages and then paced the room, waiting for Jay to back.

"Nervous?" asked Jay when he got out of the shower, an hour later.

"Aren't you?"

"Nope, just excited."

"I just want to get there."

"It's going to be a jammed backed day."

Two hours later, Harry and Jay's huge, heavy trunks had been loaded into the Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to Harry in the car and they were off.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry and Jay's trunk on to a trolley each and wheeled them on to the station for them. Harry thought this strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

"Well, there you are, boys. Platform nine – platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Harry and Jay turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing.

"Gits," said Jay as he watched them turn the corner. "Least we don't have to see them for another year."

"That's if we can find the platform."

"Yeah that's going to be a problem. But we got to move people are looking at us funny."

"Let's asks for help."

Harry stopped a passing guard, but he didn't dare mention platform nine and three quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when neither Harry nor Jay could tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though they were being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said there wasn't one. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time-wasters. Harry was now trying hard not to panic.

"What are we going to," said Harry in a frantic voice. "We have ten minutes to get on the train and we have no idea how to do it. We're stranded in the middle of no where, with two trunks full of spell books, a pocket full of wizard's gold and two large owls."

"Hagrid must have forgotten to tell us something. Like what he did in Diagon Alley."

"What should we do get out our wands and start tapping all the bricks."

Jay was about to say something when a few words of the crowd behind them caught their ears.

"– packed with Muggles, of course –"

Harry and Jay swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry and Jay's in front them – and they had an _owl_.

Heart hammering, Harry and Jay pushed their trolleys after them. They stopped and so did they, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now what's the platform number?" said the boy's mother.

"Nine and three quarters!" piped a small girl, also redheaded, who was holding her hand. "Mum, can't I go …"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. Alright, Percy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched towards platforms nine and ten. Harry and Jay watched, careful not to blink in case they missed it – but just as the boy reached the divide between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last of them had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, call yourself our mother? Can't you _tell_ I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I'm Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after to hurry up, and he must have done, because a second later, he had gone – but how had he done it? Now the third brother was walking briskly towards the ticket barrier – he was almost there – and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

"There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the plump woman.

"Hullo, dear," she said. "First time to Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet and a long nose.

"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is – the thing is, I – we don't know how to –"

"How to get on to the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry nodded as Jay poked him in the back.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of run if you're nervous. Go on, you two can go before Ron."

"Er – OK," said Harry.

He started to walk towards it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that ticket box and then he'd be in trouble – leaning forward on his trolley he broke into a heavy run – the barrier was coming nearer and nearer – he wouldn't be able to stop – the trolley was out of control – he was a foot away – he closed his eyes ready for the crash.

It didn't come … he kept on running … he opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said _Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock_. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three Quarters_ on it and a boy coming though it. Jay had joined Harry on the other side.

"That wasn't so hard," said Jay.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry and Jay pushed their trolley off down the platform in search of empty seats. They passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry and Jay pressed on through the crowds until they found an empty compartment near the end of the train. They put the owls inside first and then tried to shove and heave their trunks towards the train door. But they could hardly raise one end and twice, Harry dropped one on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed though the ticket box.

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Harry and Jay's trunks were at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks for the hand, mates," said Jay

"Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you –?"

"He _is_," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.

"What?" said Harry.

"_Harry Potter_," chorused the twins.

"Oh, him," said Harry. "I mean, yes, I am."

The two boys gawped at him and Harry felt himself going red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum."

With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train.

"Well, well, well, look who's big and famous now?"

"Shut up."

Harry sat down next to the window where, half-hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose?"

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"_Mum_ – geroff." He wriggled free.

"Aaah has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nose?" said one of the twins.

"Shut up," said Ron

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes and Harry noticed a shinny red and gold badge on his chest with the letter _P_ on it.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves –"

"Oh, are you a _prefect_, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once –"

"Or twice –"

"A minute –"

"All summer –"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a _prefect_," said their mother fondly. "Alright, dear, well, have a good term – send me an owl when you get there."

She kissed Percy on the check and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two – this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've – you've blown up a toilet or –"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."

"It's _not funny_. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry; ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it,

"Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Harry leant back quickly so they couldn't see him looking.

"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know you he is?"

"Who?"

"_Harry Potter!_"

Harry heard the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please …"

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there – like lightning."

"Poor _dear_ – and that must have been his brother, Jay, with him on the station. I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get on to the platform, poor souls."

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though they need reminding of that on their first day at school."

"Alright, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their mother said, and the boys clambered on to the train. They leant out of the window for her to kiss them goodbye and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"_George_!"

"Only joking, Mum."

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, and then she fell back and waved.

Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. House flashed past the windows. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what they were going to – but it had to be better than what they were leaving behind.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat next to Harry and opposite to Jay. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

"Hey, Ron."

The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother and this must be your brother? Jay, right?"

"Yeah that's right," answered Jay.

"Well see you later, then."

"Bye," said Harry, Jay and Ron. Twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron blurted out.

Harry nodded.

"Oh – well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got – you know …"

He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his fringe to show the lightning scar. Ron stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who –?"

"Yes," said Harry, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well – remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realised what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting.

"Er – yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"

"Ha," said Jay taking his head out of the book he was reading. "Don't get me started. They were horrible – still are as a matter of fact."

"Well not all Muggles are just our aunt, uncle and cousin. I wish I grew up in a wizarding family with three brothers"

"Am I not good enough for you?"

"I actually have five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, which was asleep.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made prefect, but they couldn't aff – I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out the window.

Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, he and his brother had never had any money in their life until a month ago, and so he told Ron, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.

"… And until Hagrid told us, we didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort –"

Ron gasped.

"What?" said Harry.

"_You said You-Know-Who's name_!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people –"

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying his name," said Harry. "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn … I bet," he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"You won't be. There are loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quickly enough."

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past or reading a book.

Around half-past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Harry and Jay who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt up to their feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Harry and Jay went out into the corridor.

They had never had any money for sweets at the Dursleys but now that they had pockets rattling with gold and silver they were ready to buy as many Mars Bars as they could carry – but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What she did have were Bertis Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands and a number of other strange things Harry and Jay had never seen in their life. Not wanting to miss anything, they got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as Harry and Jay brought it all back into the compartment and tipped it on to an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Harry and Jay together.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches in there. He pulled one of them apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," said Harry, holding up a pasty. "Go on –"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," said Harry, who had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share it with.

"Come on we can't eat all these by ourselves," said Jay chucking him a pasty.

It was a nice feeling sitting there with Ron, eating their way through all Harry and Jay's pasties and cakes (the sandwiches lay forgotten).

"What are these?" Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really _frogs_, are they?" He was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him.

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is, I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

Oh, of course, you wouldn't know – Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them; you know, to collect – famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long crooked nose and flowing silver hair, beard and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name _Albus Dumbledore_.

"So this is Dumbledore!" said Harry.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa – thanks –"

Harry turned over his card and read:

_Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of twelve uses of dragon's blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin blowing._

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone?"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her … do you want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of chocolate frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Harry. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. "_Weird_!"

Harry stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave him a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off them. Soon he had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but also Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus and Merlin. He finally tore his eyes away from the Druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Harry. "When they say every flavour, they _mean_ every flavour – you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a bogey-flavored on once."

Ron picked up a green bean, looking at it carefully and bit into a corner.

"Bleaaargh – see? Sprouts."

"Really? What happens if I grab a hand full and shove it into my mouth?" said Jay getting a fist full.

"Well let's just say, it's your funeral."

"I've lived a full life," and he shoved them all into his. His facial expressions were very entertaining. It went from sour to bitter, chili to sweet, hot to cold. Finally when he had swallowed them all and was panting for air, he choked; "Oh, remind me not to do that again."

"I tried to warn you."

They continued to have a good time eating the Every Flavour Beans. Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny grey one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper. But this was all nothing compared to what Jay had. After he had worked up the courage for another try; he took one thinking in was an apple flavored and put the whole thing in his mouth, only to find out it was wasabi.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods twisting rivers and dark green hills

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry and Jay had passed on the platform nine and three quarters came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Harry

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him …"

"Well let you know," said Jay as he left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it as quick as possible. Mind you I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look …"

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway –"

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one –_­­­­ hhhot," _as she spoke her eyes fell on Jay.

"One hot toad?" said Jay with a smile. "Please tell me that's temperature."

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron.

"Pardon?" said the girl, shaking her head and pulling her eyes away Jay, they fell on the wand in Ron's hand. "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth. She took a sit opposite Harry and Ron and next to Jay. Ron looked taken back.

"Er – alright."

He cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daises, butter mellow,

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed grey and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. For example –"

She got out her wand and pointed it at Harry.

"Oculus Reparo."

Harry's sticky taped glasses, where no longer sticky taped together; in fact they looked as good as new.

"Wow, thanks."

"Is that all you can do?" said Jay.

"What's that meant to mean?" said Hermione, slowly turning to face Jay.

"Is that the best spell you can do?"

"Can you better?"

Jay got out his wand and pointed it at Scabbers.

"_Abeo Yellow_!" and with a swish of his wand, Scabbers the rat was now fluoresce yellow.

"Now that's, cool," said Ron

Jay smiled as he put his wand away. The girl had the facial expression of half amazed and half annoyed.

"So I take it you've learnt all our set books off by heart?"

"More like head."

"Well I've learnt all our set books off by heart. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, isn't it?"

"Ahh, yeah sure, why not."

"I'm Hermione Granger by the why, who are you three?" she said

"Jay Potter."

"Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

"Are you really?" said Hermione, turning her attention on Harry for the first time. "I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're _in Modern Magical History_ and_ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_.

"Am, I?" said Harry, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Does either of you three know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad … Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be arriving soon."

And with one last look at Jay, she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell – George gave it to me, bet he knew it was dud. How did you change Scabbers, I thought you grew up if Muggles?"

"Yeah I did but things just click and I get them straight away. It's just something I have always been able to do."

"That would be so cool but can you change Scabbers back for me, I think like him better grey."

"Sure," and Jay changed Scabbers back to grey.

"Thanks."

"So, what house are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be setting on him again. "Mum and Dad were in it too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol – I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"So what do your oldest brothers do now they've left, anyway?" said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off house.

Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he'd finished school.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the _Daily Prophet_, but I don't suppose you get that with Muggles – someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Harry and Jay stared.

"Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news, they haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying "Voldemort" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er – I don't know any," said Harry confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world –" And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been in with his brothers and the broomsticks he'd like to buy if he had the money. He was taking Harry and Jay through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered and Harry and Jay recognised the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thick and looking extremely mean. Standing either side of the pale boy they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. Red hair, freckles and hand me down robes, you must be a Weasley."

He turned around to Jay.

"And you must be the almost famous brother, Jay Potter." He turned so he was looking at Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"_Almost_ friends with Harry Potter," sad Jay.

Draco Malfoy gave Jay an evil glare. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raffs like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you."

Harry, Jay and Ron all stood up. Ron's face was as red as hair.

"Say that again," he said.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you get out now," said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him, Jay or Ron.

"But we don't fell like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached towards the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron – Ron leapt forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle – Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and around, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they'd heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.

"What _has_ been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Harry and Jay. He looked closer at Scabbers. "No – I don't believe it – he's gone back to sleep."

And so he had.

"You've met Malfoy before?"

Harry and Jay explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to out side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up the front to ask the drive and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"Unless you want to see us get change, which I highly doubt you do," said Jay with another smile.

"Alright," Hermione said giving Jay a disapproving look. "I only came up here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," she said in a sniff voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

He, Jay and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit shot for him; you could see his trainers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to school separately."

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry and Jay heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! Alright, Harry? Jay?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round the bend here."

There was loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. Perched on top of a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more 'n five to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Neville and Hermione followed Harry, Jay and Ron into their boat.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, "Right then – FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy, which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out on to rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up the passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last on to smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	7. 1:7: The Shorting Hat

He he he, did you like Hermione's reaction to Jay? And the way Jay actually turn Scrabbers yellow? Hermione wasn't very happy that Jay could do it ... He he he he, well i thought it was funny.

So do you know what house Jay is going to be in? Bet you think it's Gryffindor hay? Well why do you read on and send me reviews on what you think about why Jay got put in the house i choose ...

– CHAPTER SEVEN –

**The Sorting Hat**

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide open. The entrance hall was so big you could have fitted the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, you house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has it own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourself up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried flattening his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into house?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic yet – what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected something like this the first moment he arrived. He looked round anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified too, well almost everyone. His brother was leaning up against a wall, with out a care in the world.

"Are you ever nervous?" whispered Harry.

"Nope."

"Sure you know everything by now, reading all those books."

Jay gave Harry a smile and started looking at the people around them. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learnt and wondering which one she'd need. Harry noticed that every time she mentioned a spell; she would glance up Jay.

Harry looked down at his feet. He had never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened which made him jump about foot in the air – several people behind him screamed.

"What the –"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

"Waiting to be sorted," said Jay.

"Ahhh, new students," said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them.

"That's right."

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about o start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line between Jay and Ron. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles, which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teaches behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in _Hogwarts, a History_."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open up to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing – noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat; he stared at it too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindor apart:

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuff are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry and Jay. "I'll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who feel a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blond pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause –

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, but after all he'd heard about Slytherin, he thought they looked like an unpleasant lot.

He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during sports lessons at his and Jay's old school. They were always last to be chosen, not because they were no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked them.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," a sandy-haired boy, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat after some thought. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought stuck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted "GRYFFINDOR", Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon", "Nott", "Parkinson", then a pair of twins girls "Patil" and "Patil", then, "Perks, Sally-Anne", and then, at last –

"Potter, Harry"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very Difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting … so where shall I put you?"

Harry grip the edges of the stool and thought, "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin."

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that – no?" Well, if you're sure – better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily towards the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen for Gryffindor and not for Slytherin; he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest to him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large golden chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognised him at once from the card he'd got out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only four people left to be sorted. Jay Potter went to the stool when his name was called. He sat down on the stool and waited for the hat.

Harry crossed his fingers under the table. The minutes ticked by, the Sorting Hat was taken it's time sweet time.

"Why is the hat taking so long?" thought Harry. There was a slight murmur starting to buzz around the Great Hall. No one had taken this long to be sorted before.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat suddenly and Jay, face covered with relief, went to sit next to his brother at the Gryffindor table that had erupted with cheers.

"Turpin, Lisa" became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table again and a second later the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry and Jay clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to Jay.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry and Jay as "Zabini, Blaise" was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realised how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he – a bit mad?" he asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry and Jay, but they were never allowed to eat as much as they liked. Dudley had always taken anything Harry or Jay really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the humbugs and began to eat. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.

"Can't you –"

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you – your Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would _prefer_ you call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"_Nearly_ Headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

"Like _this_," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell on to his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back on to his neck, coughed and said, "So – new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindor have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable – he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the puddings appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding …

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half and half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

"What about you Neville?" said Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – they thought I might not be magical enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons (I _do_ hope they start straight away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult –"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing –")

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and shallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his forehead.

"What is it little bro?" said Jay

"N-nothing," but Harry gave him a glace to say "talk to you later" because he didn't want to talk about it in front off the others.

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had got from the teacher's look – a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to – everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Darks Arts, Snape."

At last, the puddings too disappeared and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"First years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year; the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest's full of dangerous beast, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself snake-like into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

_"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot."_

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, whipping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Everyone got up from their tables and started heading out in to the Great Hall

"First years follow me," called Percy over the heads other the other students.

Harry, Jay and Ron had just started to follow Percy though the doors when they heard someone calling out.

"Mr Potter! Mr Jay Potter!"

The three boys turned their heads to see Professor McGonagall calling Jay back.

"What did you this time," said Harry

"I don't know? I catch up with you guys later, alright."

Jay disappeared into the crowd of people.

"What's that about?" asked Ron as they caught up with Percy.

"Don't know."

Percy led the first years past the Great Hall and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was to sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much further they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks were floating in mid-air ahead of them and as Percy took a step towards them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A Poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves – show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks

"Ooooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it," barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress,

"Password?" she said.

"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it – Neville needed a leg up – and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of spiral staircase – they were obviously in one of the towers – they found their beds at last: six four-posters hung with deep-red velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.

"Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered to Harry through the hanging. "Get _off_, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."

Harry was going to ask Ron if he'd had any of the treacle tart, but he fell asleep at once without wondering where his brother was. He had said he would catch up with them later?

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully – and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it – then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold – there was a burst of green light and Harry woke with a startle because someone had just trip over at the foot of bed.

"What? Who's there?" said Harry a little startled.

"Hey you, what's going on?" said a voice behind the curtain.

"Jay?"

"As far as you know," said Jay pulling back the curtain. "Sorry for waking you. I can't see a thing and I don't know what's what."

"It alright. I had a bad dream anyway."

"About?"

"Don't remember," said Harry straining his brain to remember what the dream had been about. "Hey what did Professor McGonagall want?"

"Oh, it was Deilvtorm."

"Who's Deilvtorm?"

"My – umm – owl, it's what I decided to called him. Pretty cool hey."

"It's different."

"Yeah, hey what happened down in the Great Hall before? When you clapped your hands to your forehead."

"Oh, yeah that. Ok get this, you know that teacher sitting next to Professor Quirrell."

"Yeah, Professor Snape."

"Well when I looked into his eyes, my scar burnt."

"But that's never happened before, has it?"

"No, that's what's so strange."

"Yeah that's freaky. Well little bro, I'm beat so I'm off to bed. Hey know which one of these is mine?"

"That one with your trunk next to it."

"Cool, night."

"Night"

Harry lay on his side still trying to remember his dream. It hadn't been a nice dream. He rolled over and fell asleep again.


	8. 1:8: The Potions Master

Well, it's that time of the day again and i'm posting the new chapter online for you all to read. Thanks for the reviews that some of you have sent in and i do try and get back to you if i have the time.

Hope you like that last chaper, did i fool you into thinking that Jay wasn't going to be in Gryffindor? Though i'm glad he is, and anyway, it would have been pretty stupid of me not to put him in Gryffindor.

Anyway, new chapter, new look on Jay. Now this is a short chapter, the shortest in this book, so i decided to add something on at the end, something to kept you reading, something to kept you interested ...

– CHAPTER EIGHT –

**The Potions Master**

"There, look?"

"Where?"

"Next to the cute kid with the multi-coloured hair."

"And next to the tall kid with red hair?"

"Wearing the glasses."

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory next day. People queuing up outside classrooms stood on tiptoes to get a good look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on Friday; some with a vanishing step half-way up that you had jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or ticked them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help much either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was always known too lock doors and trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop waste-paper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry, Jay and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door which unlucky turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose and was threaten to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing by.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break any rule in front off her, put one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secrets passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had found them, there were the lesions themselves. There was lot more to magic, as Harry and Jay quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movement of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learnt how to take care of all the strange plants fungi and found out what they used for.

Easily the most boring lesson was History of Magic, which was the only class taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first lesson he took the register, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking to the moment they had sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realised they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After making a lot of complicated notes, they were given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. To Professor McGonagall shock along with everyone else's, Jay managed to turn his match into a needle on his very first attempt. She said she had never seen a better first go and gave him a rare smile plus ten points for Gryffindor. Hermione Granger had a very sour face. After all her hard work in that lesson, she had only managed to make her match go all silvery and pointed but it still didn't look like a needle. But at least she had made a difference to her needle. Nobody else had managed to alter their match at all.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelt strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid it would be coming back one of these days. His turban, he told them, had be given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believe this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected where ever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he and his brother weren't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and like them, hadn't any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today" Harry asked Jay as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Jay, staring out into thin air.

"Snap's Head of Slytherin House," add on Ron. "They say he always favours them – we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favoured us," said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the post arrived. Harry and Jay had gotten used to this by now, but it had given them a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners and dropping letters and packages on to their laps.

The brother's owls, Hedwig and Deilvtorm, hadn't brought them anything so far. They sometimes flew in to nibble their ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the Owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, Hedwig fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note on to Harry's plate. Deilvtorm landed on Jay's shoulder and dropped a note in to his lap. Harry tore his open at once.

_Dear Harry_, it said, in a very untidy scrawl,

_I know you and your brother get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

"What does yours say?" asked Jay looking over Harry shoulder.

"Hagrid wants to meet up with us."

"Same."

"Hey Ron can I borrow your quill?"

Harry scribbled, "_Yes, please, we will see you later_" on the back of the note and sent Hedwig off again. Deilvtorm stayed on Jay's shoulder eating his toast.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to him so far.

At the start of team banquet, Harry had got the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions Lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry – he _hated_ him.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the register, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity_."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper to death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead. Jay, on the other hand, didn't seem to be listening to a word Snape was saying; he was glazing around the classroom and looked liked he was in his own world.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly, Jay snapped out of trance and looked up at Snape but Snape wasn't talking to him. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" said Snape, eyes squarely on Harry.

_Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?_ Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He _had_ looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember everything in _One Thousand Magical Herds and Fungi_?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this Hermione stood up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

Snape glared at Harry, then turned his attention on to Jay, who was trying not to laugh at Hermione who was sitting next to him.

"Jay," said Snape slowly. Jay looked up into those cold black eyes. "Can you tell me the answers to those questions?"

"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."

The whole classroom went silent. Hermione was back in her chair, looking as sour as Snape.

"Well, at lest someone decide to open their books," Snape looked around the room at the stunned students. "Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?"

There was sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.

"Don't push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As the three of them climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week – _why_ did Snape hate him so much?

"Hey bro, don't stress it ok. Snape's just an over grown bat," Jay said clapping Harry on the back.

"Yeah, cheer up;" said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you two?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "_Back_, Fang – _back_."

Hagrid's big hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "_Back_, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling; a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes on to a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes almost broke their teeth, but Harry, Jay and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry, Jay and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang some time. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her – bet Filch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Jay and Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot – great with animals."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the _Daily Prophet_:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LASTEST

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts' goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

"_But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said Gringotts' spokes goblin this afternoon."_

Harry remembered Ron telling him and Jay on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on our birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it; Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry, Jay and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?

**Jay just told Snape's ass, and the way he could answer all those questions. Snape better watch his back ... Ok, ok, don't raise your voice, i'm getting to the little bonus bit. So a little back round before i get to it. clears throat ****As i said before, i have now re-written the first three books and i am half way through writing the fourth. This little bonus bit is out take is from the third in the chapter called "The Dementor" and they are in the Great Hall eatting dessert ...**

However, there was something different at the Gryffindor table and it wasn't until dessert that Harry realised it.

Jay had just taken a mouth full of Mars bar cheesecake, Harry was picking between a slice of apple pies or a slice of treacle tarts, and Ron, as per usual, was stuffing as much of anything into his mouth. Jay, too disgusted to watch Ron, glanced down the Gryffindor table. Suddenly, Jay coughed up whatever was left of his Mars bar cheesecake, causing it to spill everywhere around the table, Jay, however, wasn't paying attention; he was simply staring down the table, eyes and mouth wide-open.

"Who is _she_?" he breathed.

Harry, Ron and Hermione followed Jays gaze down the table. Sitting next to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil was the most stunningly beautiful girl Harry had ever laid eyes on. She had an exotic look about her that gave the impression she was part gypsy. She had slick jet-black hair that flowed down her back, just falling short of hips; her eyes slanted up, giving her a most alluring beauty; her lips were blood red and lush; yet what gave Harry pause, were her baby green eyes, which hinted at her apparent innocence. She was like a fine Italian glass among dull, heavy jars.

**Have i got your attention? Kept reading and you will find out who she is, and what part she plays in my story. Review and i might show you more insight to the next sixth books ... J.K didn't do that, did she ...?**

**I do not own Harry Potter, though i wish i did.**


	9. 1:9: The Midnight Duel

Welcome back to the new installment of Harry and Jay Potter. Now I've gotten a few comments on how this book is too like J.K's and you know what, I totally agree. The thing is, I can't tell the story through Jay's eyes, which was the original idea. So if you haven't figure it out by now, Jay has a secret, a big secret and if I tell it from Jay's point of view, there is no way from keeping the secret from you and if you know, what's the point of reading? The secret is a twist to J.K's books and the reason I started writing my books. I'm sorry if people were hoping for me to write more on the Jay side of life but it would contradict what the secret is. On an up side, I did write one of the chapters in the fourth book from Jay's point of view because it was a lot more interesting that way and I am planning to do it in one more of the chapters. And then hopefully the next three books will have more interesting bits with Jay in it. Oh, and I did change some of the story line to J.K's Chamber of Secrets. Anyway, if you want to find out Jay's secrets, keep reading till the end. If you hate that I am just inserting a character that I came up with, in the J.K's books, I wouldn't hold it against you if you stop reading. I also knew that this would be a problem from the start, and I am sorry that I disappointed some of you. You could always jump on to my FanPress account and read the stories there that I am about to post (my account name is the same: TheProdigy23).

On a completely new subject, and this one goes out to ramie who posted a review but I couldn't get back to you because I am new to this and I don't know how to contact anonymous reviews. Anyway, sorry if you didn't want my reply to public but I like to get back to people who took the time to write me a review. Anyway, I do have someone editing reading my work, so I am so sorry that I have spelling, grammar and the tense errors but I can't edit my own work and they were meant to be getting out all the errors, so blame her :). Nah, I'll tell her to do a better job and hopefully then it will be up to your stands. And if all else fails, you can edit my work :). Oh and these intros haven't been edited. I just write them up on the spot, and believe me, that can be a dangerous thing.

I think that was my longest prologue so far, so I hope I haven't bored you all to death, I hope it's been enlightening. Enjoy this chapter and I will back tomorrow to post the new chapter. Please review!!

– CHAPTER NINE –

**The Midnight Duel**

Harry and Jay would have never believed they would meet a boy they hated more than Dudley, but that was before they met Draco Malfoy. Still, first years Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherin, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room, which made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday – and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

"You don't know you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories which always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang-glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about football. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball and where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham football team, trying to make the players move.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extra-ordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book – not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd got out of a library book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the post.

Harry and Jay hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's notes; something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh …" His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "… you've forgotten something …"

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Harry, Jay and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any other teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just, looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Jay, Ron and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps into the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns towards a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'UP!'"

"Up!" everyone shouted.

Harry and Jay's broom jumped into their hand at once, but they were one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without siding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry, Jay and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy had been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

The broom went out of control; it went flying in all directions trying to get Neville off. It rammed into walls and started spinning around and around and around. It went up over the school but on its way back, Neville's cloak got caught on a statue.

"Hold on!" said Madam Hooch voice from behind the stunned class. She ran over to Neville but she was too late, Neville's cloak gave way and Neville landed face down on the grass, with a loud thud and a nasty crack. His broomstick headed straight for the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy – it's alright, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

As soon as were they out of earshot, Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-face Slytherin girl, "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry babies, Parvati."

"Never thought anyone could be as stuck up as you, but I guess you never know what the days going to bring," said Jay stepping to the front.

Pansy just stood there with her mouth wide open, so surprised that Jay was even speaking to her.

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass, "it's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect – how about – up a tree?"

"Give it _here_!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt on to his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he _could_ fly well – hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

"_No!_" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble."

"Go on, go for it," Jay whispered in his ear.

Harry mounted the broom, blood was pounding in his ears, and he kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared, air rushed through his hair and his robes whipped out behind him – and in a rush of fierce joy he realised he'd found something he could do without being taught – this was easy, this was _wonderful_. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in mid-air. Malfoy looked stunned.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leant forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands and it shot towards Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about turn and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back towards the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leant forward and pointed his broom handle down – next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching – he stretched out his hand – a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently on to the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

"HARRY POTTER!"

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running towards them. He got to his feet, trembling.

"_Never_ – in all my time at Hogwarts –"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "– how _dare_ you – might have broken your neck –"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor –"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil –"

"But Malfoy –"

"That's _enough_, Mr Weasley, Potter, follow me, now."

Harry caught sight of Jay's sorry face and Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle's triumphant ones as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode towards the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to say on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Jay, Ron and the others becoming wizards while he stumped around the ground carrying Hagrid's bags.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? Thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him?

But Wood turned out to a person, a burly fifth year boy who came out to Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom, which was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him turned to face the two boys,

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be getting expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just built for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light – speedy – we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks …"

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glass at Harry.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then she suddenly smiled.

"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

"You're _joking_."

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Jay and Ron what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"_Seeker_?" he said. "But first years _never_ – you must be the youngest house player in about –"

"– a century," said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed; he just sat and gaped at Harry. Jay was smiling uncontrollable at Harry.

"Told you to go for it, didn't I?"

"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice, "Wood told us. We're on the team too – Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go; Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teaches, neither of them could do more than crake their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on any time on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around, "I'm his second and Jay's his third, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe and then Goyle," he said. "Midnight alright? We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked."

When Malfoy had gone, Ron, Harry and Jay looked at each other.

"What _is_ a wizard's duel?" said Harry.

"And what do you mean second and third?" said Jay.

"Well a wizard's duel is when you fight with your wands and a second and third are there to step in when the other die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry and Jay's face, he added quickly, "but people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested.

"Or say random words and I will do the rest," add Jay happily.

"Excuse me."

The three of them looked up. It was Hermione Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in the place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered and Jay nodded in agreement.

"– and you _mustn't _go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.

"Goodbye," said Ron.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoy's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness – this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face to face. He couldn't miss it.

"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."

They pulled on their dressing gowns, picked up their wands and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them: "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink dressing-grown and a frown.

"Not you again, can't you just leave us alone," said Jay.

"Why don't you go back to bed," add Ron.

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy – he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.

"Come on," he said to Jay and Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

"Don't you _care_ about Gryffindor, do you _only_ care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"Who doesn't know about Switching Spells," snapped Jay.

"Well if you know so much, why don't you put up your hand and answer some of the questions the teachers ask us."

"Because you seem to have that area covered. Also I don't want to be seen as a know it all, goody too shoes."

"Fine then, have it your way," said Hermione glaring at Jay. "But I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so –"

But Jay never found out what he was. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime stroll and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.

"We don't care, that's your problem, not ours," said Jay. "We're going too late. Good luck and goodnight."

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"You are _not_!"

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all four of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you and you can back me up."

"Like we would do that."

Hermione was about to say something in return but Harry stepped in.

"Shut up, both of you! I heard something."

It was a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting though the dark.

It wasn't Mrs Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours; I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down Neville, The password's "Pig Shout" but it won't help you now; the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" said Harry.

"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good – well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later –"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

"It's alright Neville; Hermione will be here to keep you company," said Jay, turning to Harry and Ron. "Let's go,"

"No!" said Hermione. "What will we tell Filch if he comes?"

"That you're locked out of the Tower, would be a good one."

"And then tell him about you three."

"You wouldn't?"

"I would."

Jay looked furiously at Harry and Ron.

"Find, but if either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learnt that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you," said Ron.

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoes towards the trophy room.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle weren't there yet. The crystal trophy case glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the door at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak – and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Horror-stuck, Harry waved madly at the other four to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently towards the door away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified; they began to creep down a long the gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry yelled and the five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Jay in the lead without any idea where they were or where they were going – they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"I – told – you." Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I – told – you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realise that, don't you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

"Does she ever shut up?" Jay asked Harry. Who both knew she was probably right, but they weren't going to tell her that.

"Let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves – please – you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves – this was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves they run for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door – and it was locked.

"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door. "We're done for! This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could towards Peeves' shuts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Jay's wand, tapped the lock but before she could say the magic words, she screamed, "It burnt me."

She showed them her hand and sure enough it had a burn line right though it.

"That's what you get for using my wand," said Jay picking up the wand and tapping the lock and whispering. "_Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it.

"How come the wand didn't burn you?" asked Hermione

"It likes me."

"Shhh," said Harry.

They all pressed their ears against the closed door to listen.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say "please"."

"Don't mess me about, Peeves, now _where did they go_?"

"Shan't say nothing it you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice.

"Alright – _please_."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered "I think we'll be OK – get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's dressing gown for the last minute. "What?"

Harry turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walking into a nightmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob – between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.

They fell backwards – Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared – all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their dressing gowns hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again.

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet; I was too busy with its heads."

"No, _not_ the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."

She stood up, glaring at them.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

"No, Hermione, don't go, we want to continue to listen to you nag as all night long," said Jay in a very sarcastic voice.

Hermione stormed off to her dormitory.

"You'd think we'd dragged her along, wouldn't you?" said Ron

But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something … What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide – except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.


	10. 1:10: Halloween

Hey everyone, welcome to today's new chapter. Haven't got a lot to say one this chapter (which is a change from yesterday :D ) apart from look out to see how Jay helps save Hermione by the troll. Good reading and see you tomorrow.

– CHAPTER TEN –

**Halloween**

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry, Jay and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Harry, Jay and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry and Jay filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," said Harry.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry, Jay and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they all saw this as an added bonus. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived with the post about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

_DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE._

_It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch pitch at seven o'clock for your first training lesson._

_Professor M. McGonagall_

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handing the note to Ron and Jay to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even _touched_ one."

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first lesson, but halfway across the Entrance Hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy sieved the package from Harry and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

Ron couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry and Jay. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, boy?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.

Harry, Jay and Ron headed upstairs smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and

confusion.

"Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team …"

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"And here comes the nagger," said Jay

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yes, don't stop now;" said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wondering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch pitch where he'd be learning to play that night. He bolted down his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating and then rushed upstairs with Jay and Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled on to Harry's bedspread.

Even Harry and Jay, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and _Nimbus Two Thousand_ written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off towards the Quidditch pitch in the dusk. He'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the pitch so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the pitch were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggles children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling – he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the pitch. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed next to him.

"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant … you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, and then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's no too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chaser."

"Three Chasers," Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright-red ball about the size of a football.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Wood. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it though one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it though the hoops to score," Harry recited. "So – that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn't it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously.

"Never mind," said Harry quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper – I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry, who was determined to remember it all. "And they play with the Quaffle. Ok got that. So what are they for?" He pointed at three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a rounders bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are the Bludgers."

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the stapes holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball raised high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it breaking his nose and sent it zigzagging away into the air – it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beater on each team – the Weasley twins are ours – it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them towards the other team. So – think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal post; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harry reeled off.

"Very good," said Wood.

"Er – have Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked, hoping he sounded off hand.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers –"

"– unless they crake my head open."

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers – I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared to the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering wings.

"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers and the Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch in caught, so it can go on for ages – I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep.

"Well, that's it – any questions?"

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do alright; it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's to dark, we might lose it. Let's try you out with a few of these."

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.

Harry didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch cup will have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to that castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Perhaps it was because they were now so busy, what with all their homework, and Harry now having Quidditch practice three evenings a week that it was such a surprise when the two brothers found out they already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive had ever done. And their lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now hat they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan, which was a lot better then Jay's partner: Neville. Ron, however, got stuck with the worst of the worst, Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to any of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said "s" instead of "f" and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skywards just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it – Harry had to put it out with his hat.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.

"_Wingardium Leviosar_!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"No, stop, stop, stop! You're going to take someone's eye out," Harry heard Hermione snap. "Besides, you're saying it wrong. It's Leviosa, not Leviosar."

"You do it, then, if you're so cleaver," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand and said "_Wingardium_ _Leviosa_!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Hermione shot a look of triumph at Jay, who hadn't even attempted to do it yet. But he took that as a sign.

"_Wingardium_ _Leviosa_!"

Jay's feather raised about five feet in the air.

"Oh, and look, Jay's got it too! Well done both of you, ten points to Gryffindor each," squeaked Professor Flitwick.

Hermione looked furiously at Jay because his feather had gone higher then hers. But it was nothing compared to Ron; he was looking murderous and at the end of the class, he started going off at her.

"It's Leviosa," he said to Harry and Jay as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "not Leviosar. She's a nightmare, honestly. No wonder she hasn't got any friends."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face – and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"Was she _crying?_" Jay asked, biting his lip.

"Who cares?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry, Jay and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girl's toilets and wanted to be left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decoration put Hermione out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the table in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start of term banquet.

Harry was just helping himself to a jacket potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew, terror on his face and screaming: "Troll in the dungeons! Troll in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was uproar. Everyone was screaming and getting up from their chairs, running towards the exit.

"SILENCE!" Dumbledore yelled. Everyone stopped dead and turned to face the High Table. "Everyone will please not panic! Now, prefects will lead their House back to the dormitories. Teachers will follow me to the dungeons."

Percy was in his element.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different direction. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Jay suddenly grabbed Harry and Ron's arm.

"Hermione?"

"What about her?" said Ron.

"She doesn't know about the troll," answered Harry.

Ron bit his lip.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy had better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor and hurried off towards the girl's toilets. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Harry and Jay behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me."

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.

"Can you smell something?"

Harry and Jay sniffed and a foul stench reached their nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And then they heard it – a low grunting and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed – at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving towards them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite grey, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, and then slouched slowly into the room.

"The key's in the lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Ron nervously.

"Go for," said Jay.

They edged towards the open door; mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the key, slam the door and lock it.

"_Yes!_"

Flushed with their victory they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corridor they heard something that made their hearts stop – a high, petrified scream – and it was coming from the chamber they'd just chained up.

"Oh, no," said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.

"It's the girls' toilet!" Harry gasped

"_Hermione_!" cried Jay as he ran full bolt down the corridor they had just come up.

It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have? Harry and Ron wheeled around and started after Jay. Jay got to the door, unlocked it and pulled the door wide open and ran inside, Harry and Ron followed.

Hermione Granger was lying on the floor under pieces of wood from the toilet blocks the troll had smashed.

"Hermione move!" yelled Harry.

Hermione began to crawl away from the troll and towards the far end wall. The troll smashed the remaining toilet blocks.

"Help!" cried Hermione.

"Confuse it!" Harry said desperately to Jay and Ron. They seized up pieces of wood from the floor and stared to throw it at the troll. The troll didn't feel the pieces of wood hitting him but he did however, hear Ron shout out, pea brain.

The troll hesitated for a bit. This was Hermione's chance. She ran past the troll and hid under the sinks. The troll let out a great howl. He turned back to Hermione who was now trapped under the sinks. He raised his club, about to go down on Hermione.

"NO!" cried Jay. He leaped forwards and pushed Hermione out of the way just as the troll brought down his club.

WAM!

There was an ear-bursting crunch and a cry of pain. The troll had brought his club right down on Jay's leg. It raised its club again.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron again, from the other side of the chamber, and threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout towards Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

"Jay, you alright?" Harry cried

"Yeah, it just really, really trickles. Just get Hermione out of here, I will be fine."

"Come on, Hermione lets go!" said Harry turning to Hermione, trying to pull her towards the door, but she couldn't move, she was sitting flat against the wall, looking horror stuck at Jay.

"He just saved my life."

"No I didn't, go with Harry! Go on I'll be fine!" shouted Jay.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started towards Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape. The troll was rising its club then Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: he took a great running jump and managed to grab hold of the troll's club. He fell down on to his neck. The troll, now so confused, started swinging and moving all about, making it hard for Harry to stay up. He tried to grab on to something but in the confusion Harry stunk his wand up its nose. Now even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose.

Howling in pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life. Then the troll got hold of Harry's ankle and ripped him off his back with his free hand. He raised his club at Harry and swung. Harry lifted up just before the club broke his skill in half.

"Do something!" Harry cried at Ron.

"What?" said Ron looking around for an idea.

"Anything!" said Harry as the troll swung his club again. Harry felt the club just nick his head. He couldn't keep this up.

Hermione was still lying on floor in fright, Jay was acing in pain from his leg; Ron pulled out his own wand – not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: "_Wingardium_ _Leviosa_!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, raised high, high up into the air, turned slowly over – and dropped, with a sickening crack, on to its owner's head. The troll dropped Harry and started swayed on the spot. Harry quickly backed away just as it fell flat on its face; right onto the spot Harry had been dropped. It made a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he done.

It was Hermione was spoke first.

"Are – are you ok, Jay."

"Oh, yeah it's fine; I get hit by troll's club every day," he groaned. "Oh, I just want to die."

Harry and Hermione gave a smile.

"Is the troll – dead?" asked Hermione.

"I don't think so," said Harry. "I think it's just been knocked out."

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was coved in what looked like lumpy grey glue.

"Urgh – troll bogies."

He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn't realised what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape and Quirrell was bring up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry. Harry hadever seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry's mind.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall, It's my fault – they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last but she still stayed at Jay's side.

"I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because

I've read all about them."

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club but if Jay hadn't dived in front of its club when it was coming down on me …"

"Lots of pain!" cried Jay from the corner.

"They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Harry, Jay and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well – in that case …" said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them. "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, I expected more rational behaviour on your part and I'm very disappointed in you."

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for your serious lack of judgment," said Professor McGonagall. "If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses."

Hermione left.

McGonagall turned to Jay

"Now how bad is that leg, Jay?"

"I don't think theirs a bone left. Oh no, I'm never going too able to walk again. My live is over. I'm doomed!"

"Now it can't be that bad."

Professor McGonagall bent over Jay's smashed leg. "You're lucky, it's not that bad." She pointed her wand over his leg and said: "_Episkey_," a bright light came out from her wand. A sense of relieve came over Jay's face.

"That feels much better thanks," Jay got up and stood on his healed leg.

"You're very lucky it wasn't worst. You're all very lucky things didn't end up worst, not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll and lived to tell the tale. You win Gryffindor twenty points for your sheer dumb luck. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go." They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite from anything else.

"We should have got more than twenty points," Ron grumbled.

"Fifteen, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's"

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we _did_ save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry reminded him.

"Yeah but don't tell her that, she will kill us," added Jay.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassing pause, then.

"Thanks, for you know, saving me back there," Hermione said to the ground.

"Thanks, for getting us out of trouble," said Ron.

"And Jay …" she said looking up at him.

"Hey don't stress it," said Jay clapping her on the back. "What are friends for?"


	11. 1:11: Quidditch

I keep forgetting what I've told you guys but if you don't already know, I wrote this book a while back and I haven't re-read in a couple of months now, which is why I didn't bring up the subject of Quidditch before hand, it just went straight over my head, lol. I was going to ask you if you thought Jay was going to be on the Quidditch team but that seems kind of pointless now that the moments gone. I guess I could ask you think he will join the team in later years, but I always saw that as an obvious question.

On another point, did you like how Jay was the first to go back and get Hermione? Maybe I'm foreshadowing something there? :P. I know there are a lot of Hermione/Ron fans out there but there are some of you that completely hate the idea of them being together … Anyway, enjoy this Chapter and I will be back tomorrow … cya ya. Please review!

– CHAPTER ELEVEN –

**Quidditch**

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy grey and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch pitch, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know which was worse – people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry had Jay as a brother. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without him, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. Jay would let him and Ron copy his work followed by looks of disgust from Hermione.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry, Jay and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll and she was much nicer for it but she still didn't approve of the way Harry and Ron were finishing their work. On the upside, she had lent Harry _Quidditch through the Ages_, to help him with the nerves of the up coming match and it turned out to be a very interesting read.

Harry learnt that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happened to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara desert.

The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the four of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and Hermione had conjured them up a bright blue fire which could be carried around in a jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione mover closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

It was _Quidditch through the Ages_ book. Harry showed him.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"He'd just made that rule up," Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

The Gryffindor common-room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione sat together next to a window. Ron was rewriting Jay's Charms homework in his own words while Hermione, who was finishing off her Transfiguration homework, was shooting Jay nasty looks, as he help Ron.

Harry felt restless. He wanted _Quidditch through the Ages_ back, to take his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of Snape? Getting up, he told Jay, Ron and Hermione he was going to ask Snape if he could have it.

"Rather you than me," they said together, but Harry had an idea that Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teacher listening.

He made his way down to the staff room and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside – and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but –

"POTTER!"

Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back."

"GET OUT! OUT!"

Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He sprinted back upstairs.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry joined them. "What's the matter?"

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past the three-headed dog at Halloween! That's what he was going when we saw him – he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick _he_ let the troll in, to make a diversion!"

Hermione's eyes were wide.

"No – he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Hermione, come on," said Jay. "All the signs are pointing towards Snape steeling what ever the three head dog is hiding. Hogwarts teacher or not, he's a bad egg.

"Yeah Hermione, I'm with Harry and Jay on this. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same questions. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind – he need to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours – but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking on to the pitch.

"Harry, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team."

"Thanks Seamus," said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Jay, Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said _Potter for President_ and Jay, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours.

Meanwhile, in the changing rooms, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Ok, men," he said.

"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley.

"The one we've been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry. "We were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harry followed Fred and George out of the changing room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked on to the pitch to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the pitch waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, from all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing _Potter for President_ over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

"Mount you brooms, please."

Harry clambered on to his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, rather attractive, too –"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, flying along and passing it back to Johnson and – no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he's going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle – that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by Slytherin – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she's really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goals posts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Jay, Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars round his neck. "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skywards at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannon ball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"Alright there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously towards Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying. "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle; too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downwards after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it too. Neck and neck they hurtled towards the Snitch – all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in mid-air to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs – he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead – he put on an extra spurt of speed –

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindor below – Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose and Harry's broom span off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal post for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, the Golden Snitch had, of course, disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"This isn't football, Dean," Ron reminded him. "You can't send people off in Quidditch – and what's a red card?"

But Hagrid was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules; Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul –"

"_Jordan, I'm warning you_ –"

"Alright, alright. Flint nearly kills Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger which went spinning dangerously past his head that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back towards the Gryffindor goals posts; he had half mind to ask Wood to call time out – and then realised that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air and every now and then making violent swishing movements which almost unseated him.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherin score – on no…"

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Hey, what is Harry doing?" said Jay looking up through the binoculars.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom … but he can't have …" said Hagrid looking up as well.

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars from Jay, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, grey-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped. "Snape – look."

Jay grabbed the binocular back. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering non-stop under his breath.

"He's doing something – jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

"I'll get him," said Jay taking out his wand.

"No, leave it too me."

Before Jay or Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Jay turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd were on their feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasley flew up to try and pull Harry safely on to one of their brooms, but it was no good – every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood and was racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell head first into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand on to the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realise that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket she scrambled back along the row – Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding towards the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick – he hit the pitch on all fours – coughed – and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't _catch_ it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference – Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the result – Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Jay, Ron and Hermione.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining. "Hermione, Jay and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione looked at each other, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy_?"

"That thing has a name?"

"Yeah – he's mine – bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub last' year – I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the –"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me any more," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that it."

"But Snape's trying to _steal_ it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher; he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid; I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now listen to me, all four of yeh – yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel –"

"Aha!" said Harry. "So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.


	12. 1:12: The Mirror of Erised

Yeah wonderful fans, nice to see you back here. Can't believe we are already up to chapter twelve, so many things have been happening in my life that time has just flown. So Merry Christmas! Keep reading and please review.

– CHAPTER TWELVE –

**The Mirror of Erised**

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake frozen solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they would follow Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver post had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common-room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draughty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

"I do feel so sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

He was looking over at Harry and Jay as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powered spine of lionfish and Jay, who was adding the last few finishing touches to his potion, both ignored them. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that Slytherin had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realised that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry and Jay about having no proper family.

It was true that Harry and Jay weren't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come round the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry and Jay had signed up at once. They didn't feel sorry for themselves at all; this would probably be the best Christmas they'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying too, because Mr and Mrs Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm alright, thanks Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoy's cold drawl from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

Jay just grabbed Ron before he dived on top of Malfoy. Snape came up the stairs.

"What is this? Fighting, you two?'

Jay let go of Ron.

"Ron was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points each from Gryffindor, you two, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get him –"

"I hate them both," said Harry, "Malfoy and Snape."

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree – put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around he walls and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days yeh got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Too many."

"We've only got one left, Jay," said Hermione.

"Exactly, it's one too many."

"That reminds me, you three – we should be in the library, we've only got half an hour before lunch," said Hermione.

"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You _what_?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here – I've told yeh – drop it. It's nothin' to yeh what that dog's guardin'"

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.

"Curiosity is second nature you know. Well it's actually first it's for me," said Jay.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must've been through hundred of books already and we can't find him anywhere – just give us a hint – I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin'," said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_, or _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_; he was missing, too, from _Important Modern Magical Discoveries_, and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of selves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles that she and Jay had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books and he knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark magic never taught at Hogwarts and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

"You'd better get out, then. Go on – out!"

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. He, Jay, Ron and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to.

Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other three had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for a fortnight, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, Jay, Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.

But once the holidays had started, Jay, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common-room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork – bread, crumpets, marshmallows – and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Harry and Jay wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather. However, the old chessmen weren't drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had any trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing: "don't sent me there, can't you see his knight? Send _him_; we can afford to lose _him_."

Jay in the mean time was chess champion at their old school and Ron lost to him in a very embarrassing match.

"I let you win," said Ron with very pink ears.

On Christmas Eve, Harry and Jay went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but they were not expecting any presents at all. When they woke early the next morning, however, the first thing they saw at the foot of each of their beds was a small pile of packages.

"Merry Christmas, you two," said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambles out of bed and pulled on his dressing-gown.

"You too," said Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's or Jay's.

"If you grew up in our house, you would expect nothing better then that," said Jay unwrapping one of his packages. "Oh, how sweet, they got me a piece of gum."

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was _To Harry, from Hagrid_. Inside was a roughly-cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

_We received your message and enclosed your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia_. Sticky taped to the note was a fifty-cent piece.

"That's friendly," said Harry.

"Yeah, when we go back there you can go out and buy another piece gum."

Ron was fascinated by the fifty cents.

"_Weird_!" he said. "What a shape! This is _money_?"

"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle – so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, going a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mum. I told her you two weren't expecting any presents and – oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you both a Weasley jumper."

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of home-made fudge.

"Every year she makes us a jumper," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's _always_ maroon."

"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

"Yeah, I really think red's my colour. It matches my eyes," said Jay trying on his jumper and taking a bite from his fudge. "And I must say your mum makes some great tasting fudge."

The next present Harry opened also contained sweets – a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.

This left only one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery-grey went slithering on the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavour Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is – they're really rare and really valuable."

"What is it?"

Harry picked the shinning, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is – try it on."

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell, while Jay whispered sweet.

"It _is_! Look down!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they had gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in mid-air, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

"Hey, Harry, there's a note," said Jay holding up a piece paper. "It was inside the wrapping."

Harry pulled off the cloak and took the letter from Jay. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you and your brother. Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you._

There was no signature. Harry showed Jay the note. Ron was admiring the cloak.

"I'd give _anything_ for one of these," he said. "_Anything_. What's the matter, Harry?"

"Nothing," said Harry, giving Jay a side ways glance. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to their father?

Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look – Harry and Jay got a Weasley jumper, too!"

Fred and George were wearing blue jumpers, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G.

"Theirs are better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's jumper. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," said George observantly. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid – we know we're called Gred and Forge."

"What's all this noise?"

Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly come halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy jumper over his arm, which Fred seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry and Jay got one."

"I – don't – want –" said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the jumper over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his jumper.

Neither Harry nor Jay had ever, in all their life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of fat chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic crackers were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a Rear-Admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up on the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at a joke Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry and Jay had finally left the table, they were laden down with a stack of things out of crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, dungbombs, luminous balloons, lots of sweets, a Grow-your-own-Warts kit and they both got their own wizards chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs Norris' Christmas dinner.

Harry, Jay and the Weasley spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight in the grounds. Then, cold, wet and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common-room, where Harry broke his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much. But the rematch between Jay and Ron was much more entertaining. After a hard battle, Ron came out on top, with a sneaky play involving a few brave prawns and a rook.

After a tea of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been the brother's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging Harry in the back of the mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and whoever had sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harry lent over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it.

His father's … this had been his and Jay's fathers. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. _Use it well_ the note had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a funny feeling.

_Use it well._

Suddenly, Harry felt wide awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back – his father's cloak – his brother's fathers cloak.

Harry went over to Jay's bed.

"Jay," he whispered, as he poked his older brother.

"Yeah," he grunted to his pillow.

"Want to go for a night wonder?"

"What?" he said turned over. "Oh, under the cloak. Bring it on."

He climbed out of bed and put on his dressing-grow.

"Should we wake Ron?"

"Nah, he's fast asleep, let's not mess with a good thing."

Jay got under the cloak and they crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common-room and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry and Jay said nothing. They walked quickly down the corridor.

"Where should we go?" said Harry, his heart was racing as he thought.

"Let's go to Snape office and trash it."

"Or we could go to the Restricted Section in the library. We will be able to read as long as we want, as long as it takes to find out who Flamel is."

"How fun," said Jay sarcastically. "But ok, I guess we can trash Snape's office another time."

They set off to the library. It was pitch black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see their way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in mid-air, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope which separated these books from the rest of the library, Harry held up his lamp so they could read the titles.

They didn't tell them much. Their peeling faded gold letters spelled words in languages neither Harry nor Jay could understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

"Well, here's a better spot then any. Let's get to work," whispered Jay

Harry nodded and set down his lamp carefully on the floor. Jay sat down and pulled a random book off the self and started to read. Harry scanned the bottom row of books for one that stuck out. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, blood-curdling shriek split the silence – the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, ear-splitting note.

"Well that's just given as away," said Jay

Harry stumbled backwards and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Jay stood up, as he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside – stuffing the shrieking book on the shelf, Harry covered Jay under the cloak and they both ran for it. They passed Filch almost in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through them and they slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in Harry's ears.

They come to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. They had been so busy getting away from the library; they hadn't paid attention to where they were going. Perhaps because it was dark, Harry didn't recognise where they were at all. There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, he knew, but they must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library – Restricted Section."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he and Jay were, Filch must know a short cut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to their horror, it was Snape who replied.

"The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry and Jay stood root on the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see them, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into them – the cloak didn't stop them being solid.

Harry felt a tugging on his sleeve. He was being pulled though a door that stood ajar to the left. He took a deep breath as he squeezed between the small gap. To his relief he managed to get inside the room after Jay, without them noticing anything. They walked straight past and Harry leant against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room Jay had pulled him into.

It looked like a disused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were pulled against the walls and there was an upturned waste-paper basket – but propped against the wall facing the two boys was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

Harry's panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape. Harry and Jay exchanged puzzled looks under the cloak. Harry moved closer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He and Jay stepped in front of it.

Harry had to clap his hand to his mouth to stop himself screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed – for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty except for himself and Jay. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he and his brother were, reflected in it, white and scared looking, and there, reflected behind them, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder – but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and the mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

"Ok not that this isn't fun, but can we go now?" said Jay

"What? Can't you see them?"

"See who?"

"The people in the mirror."

"I see a blank mirror."

Harry looked closer at the mirror. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he only felt air – she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark hair and her eyes – her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just like Harry's did.

Harry took a step forwards, the cloak fell off him. He continued to move closer so that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

"Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?"

"Are you alright Harry?"

Harry turned around, he said to the still invisible Jay, "I can see our Mum and Dad, Jay." Harry turned back to mirror, "I can see our whole family, there's someone with the same eyes as me and a nose and look, that guy got my knobbly knees."

Harry leant right up against mirror, hoping – prying that he could just fall straight though the glass.

"Harry, I think we need to get out of here."

"Jay, they're right there. Come here have a look."

Jay took off the Invisible Cloak and took up Harry's spot. Harry couldn't see his parent anymore.

"Can you see them, can you see our family."

But Jay didn't hear him; he was too transfixed on the mirror.

"Well?"

"I can see our Mum and Dad. Just our Mum and Dad. They are beckoning me forward. They're asking me to join them."

Jay reached up and put his hand on the mirror where he could see his mother's face.

Harry's mouth fell open. He stepped in front of the mirror. There was his whole family, at least ten of them.

"Are you sure you can't see the others."

"Are you sure you _can_ see the others?" said Jay. "Come on, I don't like this mirror, Harry. Let's just try and find our way back to bed."

Harry tore his eyes away from his mother's face and whispered so that Jay couldn't hear him, "I'll come back."

"You could have woken me up," said Ron crossly.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror," said Harry.

"You can't go back tonight, Harry, I don't like that mirror."

"Come on Jay, don't be such a downer, I want to see your mum and dad," Ron said.

"Yeah and I wouldn't mind see your family Ron, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Or people you are close too. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, Harry, why aren't you eating anything?"

"Come on Harry, eat, forget that mirror and we can have a fresh start on Flamel tonight."

But Harry just shook his head. He wasn't hungry; he didn't care about Flamel anymore. He didn't seem important any more. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it? Nothing matter anymore, all Harry cared about was seeing his parents again.

"Are you alright, Harry?" said Ron. "You look odd."

What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again and with Jay refusing to come and see the mirror again, he couldn't show them the way, which Harry knew he could do with out any trouble. So Harry and Ron tried for over an hour to find the room again, wandering around the dark passageways in the middle of the night.

"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

"_No!_" Harry hissed. "I know it's here somewhere."

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armour.

"It's here – just here – yes!"

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from round his shoulders and ran to the mirror.

There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

"See?" Harry whispered.

"I can't see anything."

"Look! Look at them all ... there are loads of them. Or can you only see my Mum and Dad, like Jay?"

"I can only see you."

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family any more, just Ron in his paisley pyjamas.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image?"

"Look at me! He said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?"

"No – I'm alone – but different – I look older – and I'm Head Boy!"

"_What?_"

"I am – I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to – and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup – I'm Quidditch captain, too!"

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it? All my family are dead – let me have another look –"

"You got to look at it last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."

"Don't push me –"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realised how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs Norris came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing – did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed ages, she turned and left.

"This isn't safe – she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on."

And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.

The snow still hadn't by the melted next morning.

"Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.

"No."

"We should all go down and visit Hagrid," said Jay

"You two can go."

"We know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror," said Jay

"Please Harry, don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I think Jay's right, there just something wrong about that mirror," said Ron. Harry continued to look into fire. "Anyway you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape and Mrs Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

"I'm serious, Harry, don't go."

"Please, Harry. Listen to us."

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and nether Jay or Ron were going to stop him.

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast and he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except –

"So – back again, Harry?"

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desk by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

"I – I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how short-sighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, sir."

"But I expect you've realised by now what it does?"

"It – well – it shows me my family –"

"As it does with your brother but shows your friend Ron himself as Head Boy."

"How did you know –"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is; he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want … what ever we want…"

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You and your bother, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry stood up.

"Sir – Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of think, woolen socks."

Harry stared.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.


	13. 1:13: Nicolas Flamel

Sorry, this ones a little late to be updated for all those people following at home but I got caught up at work. Hope you enjoy Jay, Ron and Neville getting into a fist fight with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle and I will be back next week with the next chapter.

– CHAPTER THIRTEEN –

**Nicolas Flamel**

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the Invisibility Cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high voice cackled with laughter.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told him and Jay about these dreams.

"What about you Jay? Do you have nightmares about our parents? You did see them in the mirror as well."

Jay's scarlet eyes looked deeply into the green ones that were his brother's: "No," he said simply and turned back to the chess game he was having with Ron and checkmated him.

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view on things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!") and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time the other three, because of Quidditch practice had started again.

Wood was working them harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harry found he had fewer nightmares when he was tired out after training.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just got very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-booming each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.

"Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.

"_Snape's_ refereeing?" he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."

The rest of the team landed next to George to complain too.

"It's not _my_ fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

Which was all very well, thought Harry, but he had another reason for not wanting Snape near him while he was playing Quidditch …

The rest of the team hung back to talk to each other as usual at the end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common-room, where he found Jay and Hermione playing chess while was Ron coping Jay's Potion essay. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry, Jay and Ron thought was very good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Hermione when Harry joined the three of them at their table. "I need to concen –" she caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told the other three about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," said Hermione at once.

"Say you're ill," said Jay.

"Say you got dragon poxes,' said Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg,' Hermione suggested.

"_Really_ break your leg," said Ron.

"And I know just the right spell," said Jay, pointing his wand at Harry's kneecap.

"I can't,' said Harry hitting Jay's wand away. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

"Don't worry; I will fill in for you. It doesn't look that hard, catching a small ball," said Jay.

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognised at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Everyone fell about laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed the counter-curse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling.

"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Harry, Jay and Ron.

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head.

"I don't want any more trouble,' he mumbled

"You've got stand up to him, Neville!' said Ron. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked.

"Now the Sorting Hat doesn't just put anyone Gryffindor, Neville. It probably saw something inside of you that you can't see yourself and that's why you're in the Gryffindor common room right now. So next time just dig deep and bring out that Gryffindor lion," said Jay

Neville gave a weak smile.

Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "Jay's right, the Sorting Hat saw something in you and put you in Gryffindor. And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville's smile became a bit bigger as he unwrapped the frog.

"Thanks Harry … thanks guys … I think I'll go to bed … D'you want the card, you collect them don't you?"

As Neville walked away Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," he said. "He was the first one I ever –"

He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Than he looked up at Jay, Ron and Hermione.

"_I've found him!_" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here – listen to this: "Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelward in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and _his work on alchemy with his partner Nicolas Flamel_"!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't look so excited since they'd got back the mark for their very first homework.

"Stay there!' she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. Harry, Jay and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"This is what you call _light?_" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I _knew_ it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the _only known maker of the Philosopher's stone_!"

"He is not!" said Jay, grapping the book and reading it for himself.

"The what?" said Harry and Ron who didn't have a clue what the Philosopher's stone was.

"Oh, _honestly_, don't you two read? Look – read that, there."

She took the book from Jay and handed to Harry and Ron, who started to read.

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philo-sopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal._

_There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemy and opera-lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight)._

"See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog –"

"Fluffy!" corrected Jay

"– must be guarding Flamel's Philosopher's stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it. That's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! _Anyone_ would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that _Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

Next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry, Jay and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the up coming match.

"I'm going to play,' he told Jay, Ron and Hermione. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them … it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the pitch," said Hermione.

"Dam! I was hoping to play," said Jay.

As the match drew nearer, however, Harry thought more and more about taking Jay's offer. He was becoming very nervous, even if he told Jay, Ron and Hermione differently. The rest of the team weren't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was wonderful, no one had done it for nearly seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?

Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potion lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Harry. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Philosopher's Stone? Harry didn't' see how he could – yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the changing rooms next afternoon, that Jay, Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see him alive again. This wasn't what you would call comforting. Harry hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Jay, Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why all three of them had brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry know that Jay, Ron and Hermione had been secretly practicing the Leg Locker curse. They'd got the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.

"Now, don't forget, it's _Locomotor Mortis_," Hermione muttered as Jay and Ron slipped their wand up their sleeve.

"We _know_," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."

Back in the change rooms, Wood had taken Harry aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff to much."

"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out side of the door. "Even – blimey – Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Harry's heart did a somersault.

"_Dumbledore?_" he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Harry could have laughed out loud with relief. He was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try and hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.

Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched on to the pitch, something that Jay and Ron noticed, too.

"Man, I would really hate to be a Gryffindor down on that pitch today. Snape looks like he could murder," said Jay.

"Don't say that!" squealed Hermione. "You'll jinx it!"

"I've never seen him look so mean," said Ron. "Look – they're off. Ouch!"

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want bet? What about you Weasley?"

"I swear to God, Draco, if you don't shut your mouth," snapped Jay.

"Ooooooooo! Getting a bit rough there, Potter."

Jay stood up but Hermione pulled him back down into his seat.

"Just ignore him. He's only looking for trouble," Hermione cried over the noise of cheering Hufflepuff because they had just scored a penalty goal awarded because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at Snape.

Hermione now turned her attention back on Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "Its people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money – you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Jay jumped up off his seat but Hermione, without taken her eyes off the game, pulled him down again.

Neville was bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game like Hermione, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something.'

Jay's nerves were already at breaking point with anxiety about Harry.

"One more word, Draco, just one more word and you'll –"

"Jay!" said Hermione suddenly. "Harry –"

"Has he got the Snitch?"

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked towards the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground for you!" said Malfoy

Jay and Ron had both snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Jay and Ron were both on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, and then clambered over the back of his seat to help.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping on to her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape – she didn't even notice Malfoy and Jay rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that were Ron, Neville, Crabbe and Goyle.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches – next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Jay! Ron! Where are you two? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor are in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it – the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling on to the pitch, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped – then felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror … been keeping busy … excellent …"

Snape spat bitterly on the ground.

Harry left the changing room alone sometime later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broom-shed. He couldn't even remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now – no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him on to their shoulders; Jay, Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed and Jay with a cut down his face but they looked happy none the less.

Harry had reached the shed. He leant against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor was in the lead. He'd done it, He had shown Snape …

And speaking of Snape …

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible towards the Forbidden Forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognised the figure's prowling walking. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner – what was going on?

Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He followed.

The trees were so think he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided towards them and landed noiselessly in a tower beech tree.

He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

"… d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus …"

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all.

Harry leant forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I –"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step towards him.

"I-I don-t know what you –"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted loudly and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say "– you little bit of hocus pocus. I'm waiting.'

"B-but I d-d-don't –"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lies."

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

"Harry, where have you _been_?" Hermione squeaked.

"We won! You won! We won!' shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back. "And I gave Goyle a black eye, Jay gave Malfoy _two_ black eyes and a bleeding nose and Neville tried to take on Crabbe, he's still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right – talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now," said Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty room; wait 'til you hear this …"

He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he'd seen and heard.

"So we were right, it _is_ the Philosopher's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy – and he said something about Quirrell's "hocus pocus" – I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantment, probably, and Quirrell's would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell which Snape needs to break through –"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.

"Like that will happen," laughed Jay.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron


	14. 1:14: Norbet the Norwegain Ridgback

Welcome back fabulous fans, I hope you are enjoying this story (and I would hope so if you've read this far). Hope you guys haven't over look the clues to Jay's secret, and yes there have been a couple. Send me any theories you have to the secret, no matter how out there they seem because you'll probably be closer than you realise. Please review and I will see you tomorrow when I update again.

– CHAPTER FOURTEEN –

**Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback**

Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they'd thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn't look as though he'd cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed Quirrell these days he gave him an encouraging sort of smile, Jay was giving Quirrell encouraging comments and Ron had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter.

Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Philosopher's Stone. She had started drawing up revision timetables and colour-coding all her notes. Harry, Jay and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the same.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away."

"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel.

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her. "Anyway, what are you nagging Jay for, he knows everything already and so do you, you don't need to revise."

"I don't need to revise! Jay doesn't need to revise! Are you mad? You realise we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's got into me …"

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter Holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Harry and Ron spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get through all their extra work. Jay also spent most of his time with them in the library too but he wasn't studying. He would just lay back and watch time go by. Harry who was use to this didn't mind but Hermione and Ron kept shooting Jay disapproving glances.

"And how are you going to past year one if you don't even study?" snapped Hermione one afternoon after a long day of studying.

"Hermione, I'm sorry, but I already know everything that's going to be on the tests so what's the point of studying?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. Hermione glared at him.

"Sure you will get _most_ of the questions right but don't you want to get them _all_ right?"

"Hermione, believe me when I say this, I _will!_"

"Man, I will never remember all this," Ron burst out, as he threw down his quill and looked out of the library window. It was the first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue and there was a feeling in the air of summer.

Jay smiled and lay back down again, lost in his thoughts again. Hermione frowned at him but went back to her book: _Magical Drafts and Potions. _Ron continued to stare out the window. Harry was looking up "Dittany" in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_.

"Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?" cried Ron.

Harry looked up to see Hagrid shuffle into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

"Jus' lookin'," he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. "An' what're you lot up ter?" He looked suddenly suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," said Ron impressively. "And we know what that dog's –"

"Fluffy," said Jay with out looking up.

"What ever! We know it guarding the Philosopher's St –"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"There are a few thing we want to ask you, as a matter of fact," said Harry. "About what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy –"

"SHHHH," said Hagrid again. "Listen – come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anything', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh –"

"See you later, then," said Harry happily.

Hagrid shuffled off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" said Hermione thoughtfully.

"My best guess would be a book," said Jay.

"Well obviously."

"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Ron, who'd had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

"_Dragons!_" he whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragon! Look at these: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland_;_ From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide_."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me and Jay so the first time we ever met him," said Harry.

"But it's against our laws," said Ron. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden – anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"Yeah but try telling that to Hagrid,' said Jay.

"But there aren't wild dragons in _Britain?_" said Harry.

"Of course there are," said Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our lot have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earth's Hagrid up to?" said Hermione.

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Hagrid called, "Who is it?" before he let them in and then shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwich, which they refused.

"So – yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," said Harry. There was no point beating about the bush. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Philosopher's Stone apart from Fluffy."

"O' course I can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn't tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts – I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

"Yeah but Hagrid, its not like we're going to go though the trapdoor and try and steal the stone. It would be stupid to try and take it on with all the really advanced magic you and the other teachers have cast on it to protect it," said Jay in a casual tone with some careful flattery. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling. "All we really need – all we want to know is who Dumbledore trust as much as you to help him protect it,"

Hagrid's chest swelled at these last words Harry, Ron and Hermione beamed at Jay.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that … let's see … he borrowed Fluffy from me … then some o' the teachers did enchantments … Professor Sprout – Professor Flickwick – Professor McGonagall –" he ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell – an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

"_Snape!_"

"Yeah – yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

Harry knew Jay, Ron and Hermione were thinking the same as he was. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything – except, it seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren't you Hagrid?" said Harry anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.

"Well, that's something," Harry muttered to the other. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling."

"Can't, Harry, sorry,' said Hagrid. Harry noticed him glance at the fire. Harry looked at it too.

"Hagrid – what's _that_?"

But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard. "That's – er …"

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Hermione.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library – _Dragon breeding for Pleasure and Profit_ – it's a bit outta data, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here – how ter recognise diff'rent eggs – what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback, They're rare, them."

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't.

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_," she said

"And it's small, this things going to grow you know," said Jay.

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.

"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed, as evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting. Hermione had now started making revision timetable for Harry, Jay and Ron, too. It was driving them mad.

"We have been though this, I don't need to revise Hermione. I know it all ready," said Jay giving back the timetable.

"And I still say it's better to be safe then sorry."

Jay put his shaking head in his hands and sighed.

The next morning, while eating breakfast, Hedwig brought Harry another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: _It's hatching_.

Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut. Hermione wouldn't hear of it.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing –"

"Shut up?" Harry whispered.

Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How much he had heard? Harry didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all.

Ron and Hermione argued all the way to Herbology and in the end, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid's with the other three during morning break. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the four of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out." He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped on to the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. It spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body and it had a long snout with wide nostrils, stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!" said Hagrid.

"No, Hagrid, I think that's a "back of" sign,' said Jay, edging away from the dragon.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face – he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – it's a kid – he's runnin' back up to ter the school.

Jay, who was half out of his seat already, bolted to the window. He turned around with no colour in his face and said the one word: "Malfoy."

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week made Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione very nervous. They spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Harry urged. "Set him free."

"I can't," said Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his gamekeeper duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mummy?"

"He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered in Harry's ear.

Jay mouthed Mummy in disgusted to them from across the table.

"Hagrid," said Harry loudly, "give it a fortnight and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip.

"I – I know I can't keep him for ever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

Harry suddenly turned to Ron.

"Charlie," he said.

"You're losing it, too," said Ron. "I'm Ron, remember?"

"No – Charlie – your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" said Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

The following week dragged by. Tuesday night found Hermione, Jay and Harry sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Harry and Jay's Invisibility Cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

There was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Hedwig!" said Harry; hurrying to let her in. "she'll have Charlie's answer!"

The four of them put their heads together to read the note.

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter – I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love, Charlie_

They looked at each other.

"We've got the Invisibility Cloak," said Harry. "It shouldn't be too difficult – I think the cloak's big enough to cover three of us and Norbert."

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other three agreed with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert – and Malfoy.

There was a hitch. By next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He didn't know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey – would she recognise a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if Norbert's fangs were poisonous.

Harry, Jay and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bad.

"It's not just my hand," he whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me – I've told her it was a dog but I don't think she believes me – I shouldn't have attacked at him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

Harry, Jay and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," said Hermione, but this didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no – oh no – I've just remembered – Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

Harry, Jay and Hermione didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep.

"It's too late to change the plan now," Harry told Hermione. "We haven't got time to send Charlie another owl and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We'll have to risk it. And we have got the Invisibility Cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."

They found Fang the boarhound sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.

"I won't let you in," he puffed. "Norbert at a tricky stage – nothin' I can't handle."

When they told him about Charlie's letter, his eyes filled with tears, although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

"Aargh! It's alright, he only got my boot – jus' playin' – he's only a baby, after all.

The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Harry, Jay and Hermione walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn't come quickly enough.

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say goodbye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the Entrance Hall, where he'd been playing tennis against the wall.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," said Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as though teddy was having his head torn off.

"Bye bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, as Harry, Jay and Hermione covered the crate with the Invisibility Cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. "Mummy will never forget you!"

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase, then another – even one of Harry's short cuts didn't make the trip much easier.

"Nearly there!" Harry panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the shadows, staring at the outline of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in turban dressing gown and a hairnet, had Malfoy by the ear.

"Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you –"

"You don't understand, Professor, Harry Potter's coming – he's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

The steep spiral staircase up to the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd steeped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again. Hermione did sort of jig.

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," Harry advised her.

"Finally, pay back for my cut cheek."

Chuckling about Malfoy, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They showed Harry, Jay and Hermione the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them, They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry, Jay and Hermione shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

At last, Norbert was going … going … _gone_.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands, now that Norbert was off them. No more dragon – Malfoy in detention – what could spoil their happiness?

The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch's face loomed suddenly out of the darkness.

"Well, well, well," he whispered, "we _are_ in trouble."

They'd left the Invisibility Cloak on top of the tower.


	15. 1:15: The Forbidden Forest

This is weird, how come I got reviews for the first couple of chapters and not for the last couple. Are people just lazy or aren't they interesting enough? Oh well, enjoy this chapter and I would say please review but you people aren't listening to me so I won't waste my time like I am now, writing what I'm thinking and not stopping even though I know you guys will come and read this and think that this person is a complete loser or try hard it's not funny. Cya tomorrow

- CHAPTER FIFTEEN –

**The Forbidden Forest**

Things couldn't have been worse.

Filch took them down to Professor McGonagall's study on the first floor, where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Hermione was trembling. Excuses, alibis and wild cover-up stories chased each other around Harry's brain, each more feeble than the last. He couldn't see how they were going to get out of trouble this time. They were cornered. How could they have been so stupid as to forget the cloak? There was no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall would accept them being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of the night, let alone being up the tallest astronomy tower, which was out-of-bounds except for classes. Add Norbert and the Invisibility Cloak to the mix and they might as well be packing their bags already.

Had Harry thought that things couldn't be worse? He would have been wrong. When Professor McGonagall appeared, she was leading Neville.

"Harry!" Neville burst out, the moment he saw the other three. "I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag –"

Harry shook his head violently to shut Neville up, but Professor McGonagall had seen. She looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert as she towered over the four of them.

"I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr Filch says you were up the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. _Explain yourselves_."

It was the first time Hermione had ever failed to answer a teacher's question. She was staring at her slippers, as still as a statue. Jay stood up to the plate.

"Please Professor, we were trying to help Neville," he said. "Draco had this crazy idea that we had a dragon and wanted to give it away. We didn't think much of it; we just thought he was trying to get us expelled again. But then we found out that Malfoy had let slip to Neville that he was going to sneak out to the astronomy tower to get us expelled for having a dragon and Neville went to save us. So we set out to save him."

Harry and Hermione looked up at Professor McGonagall. Would she believe this lie? Would Neville cover for them?

"That," said Professor McGonagall, "is a well planned lie, Mr Potter –"

"It's not a lie –"

"If it's not a lie, Mr Potter, why did Mr Malfoy really go to the astronomy tower and risk getting caught, if you three weren't going to show yourselves?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat. But Jay was on his toes.

"I don't know how the mind of Draco Malfoy works, Professor. Maybe he wanted to see us all get into trouble but slipped up and got caught himself?"

"I think your lying, Mr Potter. And I think I know the true story," Harry's heart was beating so fast now he was surprised his heart didn't jump right out, how could she know about the dragon? "It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock and bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I suppose you think it's funny that Mr Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?"

Harry caught Neville's eye and tried to tell him without words that this wasn't true, because Neville was looking stunned and hurt. Poor, blundering Neville – Harry knew what it must have cost him to try and find them in the dark, to warn them.

"Professor, that makes no sense. Why would we want a Gryffindor to get into trouble?" said Jay "Neville is one of our friends –"

"Silence! I am absolutely disgusted," said Professor McGonagall. 'Five! Five students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense. Mr Jay Potter, you should pull your head in and show more respect. As for you, Mr Harry Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All four of you will receive detentions – yes, you too, Mr Longbottom, nothing gives you the right to walk around the school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous – and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor."

"_Fifty?_" Harry gasped – they would lose the lead, the lead he'd won in the last Quidditch match.

"Fifty points _each_," said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long pointed nose.

"Professor – please –"

"We will lose the lead –"

"You can't –"

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."

Two hundred points lost. That put Gryffindor in last place. In one night, they'd ruined any chance Gryffindor had had for the house cup. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. How could they ever make up for this?

Harry didn't sleep all night. He could hear Neville sobbing into his pillow and Jay tossing and turning in his sheets for what seemed like hours. Harry couldn't think of anything to comfort them. He knew they, like himself, were dreading the morning. What would happen when the rest of Gryffindor found out what they'd done?

At first Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have two hundred points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, him, his brother and a couple of other stupid first years.

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Everywhere Harry went, people pointed and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted him. Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped as he walked past them, whistling and cheering. "Thanks Potter, we owe you one!'

Only Ron stood by him.

"They'll all forget this in a few weeks. Fred and George have lost loads of points in all the time they've been here, and people still like them."

"They've never lost two hundred points in one go, though, have they?" said Harry miserably.

"Well – no," Ron admitted.

It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Harry swore to himself not to meddle in thing that weren't his business from now on. He'd had it with sneaking around and spying. He felt so ashamed of himself that he went to Wood and offered to resign from Quidditch team.

"_Resign?_" Wood thundered. "What good'll that do? How are we going to get any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?"

But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn't speak to Harry during practice, and if they had to speak about him, they called him "the Seeker".

Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time as Harry, because they weren't as well known, but nobody would speak to them either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence.

Harry was almost glad that the exams weren't far away. All the revision he had to do kept his mind off his misery. He, Ron and Hermione kept to themselves, working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells off by heart, memorise the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions.

The only person who didn't seem to be affected by the negative energy from the other peers was Jay. He would sit at the back of the library with the other three, but instead of studying he read book, after book, after book that had nothing to do with what they learning at school. Hermione would give him worrying looks every now and again but never said anything.

About a week before the exams were due to start, Harry's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on his own one afternoon, he heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As he drew closer, he heard Quirrell's voice.

"No – no – not again, please –"

It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Harry moved closer.

"Alright – alright –" he heard Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight; Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him. He waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Harry was halfway towards it before he remembered what he'd promised himself about not meddling.

All the same, he'd have gambled twelve Philosopher's Stones that Snape had just left the room, and from what Harry had just heard, Snape would be walking with a new spring in his step – Quirrell seemed to have given in at last

Harry went back to the library, where Hermione was testing Ron on Astronomy and Jay was sitting in the corner reading a book: _Exotic Creatures of the World_. Harry told them what he'd heard.

"Snape's done it, then!" said Ron. "If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell –"

"There's still Fluffy, though," said Hermione.

"Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid," said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. "I bet there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog."

"Well, not exactly," said Jay throwing down _Exotic Creature of the World._ "I can't find anything about a three-head dog, in any of these books. And we haven't seen Snape reading book after book in here either. So the only other way is through Hagrid and he wouldn't tell a soul."

"We should go to Dumbledore," said Hermione. "That's what we should have done ages ago, If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"But we've got no proof!" said Harry. "Quirrell's too scared to back us up. Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor – who do think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate him, Dumbledore'll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn't help us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better he'll think. And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot of explaining."

Jay and Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn't.

"If we just do a bit of poking around –"

"No," said Harry flatly, "we've done enough poking around.'

He pulled a map of Jupiter towards him and started to learn the names of its moons.

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Jay, Hermione and Neville at the breakfast table. They were all the same:

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr Filch in the entrance hall._

_Prof. M. McGonagall._

Harry had forgotten they still had detention to do in the furor over the points they'd lost. He half expected Hermione to complain that this was a whole night of revision lost, but she didn't say a word. Like Harry and Jay, she felt they deserved what they'd got.

At eleven o'clock that night they said goodbye to Ron in the common room and went down to the entrance hall with Neville. Filch was all ready there – and so was Malfoy. Harry had also forgotten that Malfoy had gotten a detention too.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he said, leering at them. "Oh yes … hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me … It's just a pity they let the old punishments die … hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed … Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

They marched off across the dark ground. Neville kept sniffing. Harry wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Harry's heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it wouldn't be so bad. His relief must have showed in his face, because Filch said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy – it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

At this, Neville let out a little moan and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

"The forest?" he repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual. "We can't go in there at night – there's all sort of thing in there – werewolves, I heard."

Neville clutched the sleeve of Harry's robe and made a choking noise.

"That's your lookout, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"Abou' time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half and hour already. Alrigh', Harry, Jay, Hermione?"

"I wouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch coldly, "they're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at three," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back towards the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy turned to Hagrid.

"I'm not going in that forest," he said.

"Are you scared, Draco? Are you frighten of a few little doggies?" said Jay in a mocking voice.

Malfoy showed Jay his fist.

"Ooooooooo! Getting a bit rough there, Draco."

"That's enough!" said Hagrid, pulling Jay out of Malfoy's reach. "Now if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts, you will do this. Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"But this is servant stuff; it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be writing lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd –"

"– tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Writin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!"

Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously but then dropped his gaze.

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight an' I don' want no one takin' risk. Follow me over here a moment.'

He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the think black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there that's bin hurt badly by summat. This in the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,' said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trial in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."

"I want Fang,' said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

"Alright, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. "So me, Harry, Jay an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yeh wands out an' practice now – that's it – an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh – so be careful – let's go."

The forest was black and silent. A little way into they reached a fork in the path and Harry, Jay, Hermione and Hagrid took the left path while Malfoy, Neville and Fang took the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight came through the branches above and lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

Harry saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

"_Could_ a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" Harry asked.

"Not fast enough," said Hagrid. "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn, they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before."

They walked past a mossy tree-stump. Harry could hear running water; there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

"You alright, Hermione?" Hagrid whispered. "Don' worry, it can't've gone far if it's this badly hurt an' then we'll be able ter – GET BEHIND THAT TREE!"

Hagrid seized Harry, Jay and Hermione and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The four of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

"I knew it," he murmured. "There's summat in here that shouldn' be."

"A werewolf?" Harry suggested.

"That was' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," said Hagrid grimly. "Right, follow me, but careful now."

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in the clearing ahead, someone definitely moved.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called. "Show yerself – I'm armed!"

And into the clearing came – was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a man with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse's gleaming chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Harry, Jay and Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Oh, it's you, Ronan," said Hagrid in relief. "How are yeh?"

He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," said Ronan. He had a deep, sorrowful voice. "Were you going to shoot me?"

"Can't be too careful, Ronan," said Hagrid, patting his crossbow. "There's summat bad loose in the forest. This is Harry Potter an' his brother Jay Potter an' this ones Hermione Granger, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is Ronan, you two. He's a centaur."

"We'd noticed," said Hermione faintly.

"Good evening," said Ronan. "Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?"

"Erm –"

"A bit," said Hermione faintly.

"A bit. Well, that's something." Ronan sighted. He flung back his head and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight."

"Yeah,' said Hagrid, glazing up too. "Listen, I'm glad we've run inter yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt – you seen anythin'?"

Ronan didn't answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upwards, then sighted again.

"Always the innocent are the first victims," he said. "So it has been for ages past, so it is now."

"Yeah,' said Hagrid, "but have yeh seen anythin', Ronan? Anythin' unusual?"

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated while Hagrid watched him impatiently. "Unusually bright."

"Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer ter home," said Hagrid. "So yeh haven't noticed anythin' strange?"

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, "The forest hides many secrets."

There was movement in the trees behind Ronan, which made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and bodied and wilder looking than Ronan.

"Hullo, Bane," said Hagrid. "Alright?"

"Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?"

"Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd in here lately? Only there's a unicorn bin injured – would yeh know anythin' about it?"

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skywards.

"Mars is bright tonight," he said simply.

"We've heard," said Hagrid grumpily. "Well, if either of you do see anythin', let me know, won' yeh? We'll be off, then."

Harry, Jay and Hermione followed him out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

"Never," said Hagrid irritably, "try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon."

"Are there many of _them _in here?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, a fair few … keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they're good enough about turnin' up if ever I want a word. They're deep, mind, centaurs … they know things … jus' don' let on much."

"D'you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?" asked Harry.

"Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's bin killin' the unicorns – never heard anythin'g like it before."

"It sounded like a cloak to me," said Jay. "And a cloak means a person."

Hagrid looked worried again.

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry kept looking nervously over his shoulder. He had the nasty feeling they were being watched. He was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them. They had just passed a bend in the path when Hermione grabbed Hagrid's arm.

"Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!'

"You three wait here!' Hagrid shouted. "Stay on the path; I'll come back for yeh!"

They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other, very scared, until they couldn't hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them.

"You don't think they've been hurt, do you?" whispered Hermione.

"I hope Draco's dead," said Jay fiercely.

"Jay! That's an awful thing to say. Sure he's not very nice but still that's no reason to say that about someone. Tell him Harry."

"As long as Neville's not hurt, I'm happy. It's our fault he's here in this first place.'

The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harry's seemed to be picking up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others?

At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Malfoy, Neville and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him for a joke. Neville had panicked and sent up the sparks.

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups – Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry and Jay, you go with Fang an' this idiot. I'm sorry," Hagrid added in a whisper to Harry and Jay, "but he'll have a harder time frightenin' you two, an' we've gotta get this done."

So Harry and Jay set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy and Fang. They walked for nearly half and hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of the tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

"Look –" he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Jay and Malfoy.

Something shining a bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn alright, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and yet so sad. Its long slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane shone pearly-white on the dark leaves

Harry and Jay had taken one step towards it when a slithering sound made them freeze where they stood. A bush in the edge of the clearing quivered … then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Jay, Malfoy and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn; it lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side and began to drink its blood.

"AAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted – so did Fang.

"And that's why your not in Gryffindor, you coward!" yelled Jay as Malfoy disappeared though the trees.

"Umm, Jay."

"What?" Jay turned around to see what Harry was looking at. The hooded figure had its head raised – unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly towards them.

"Run!" yelled Jay, but Harry stood rooted on the spot – he was frozen in fear.

"Come on!" Jay pulled Harry out of the clearing and back down the path.

Then it happened, a pain pierced Harry's head like he'd never felt before, it was as though his scar was on fire. Harry fell to his knees the pain was so bad.

"Harry, we got to get out of here! Its coming, Harry! It's coming for us!"

But Harry couldn't move the pain was so bad – he was half-blinded by it. He heard hooves behind him, galloping. Jay covered Harry as it jumped over them and charged at the figure.

It took a few minutes for the pain on Harry's forehead to pass.

"Are you alright Harry?"

Harry looked up, the figure had gone and his brother and a centaur were standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

"Are you alright, Harry?" said Jay again, pulling him to his feet.

"Yeah, thanks, Jay. What _was_ that thing?"

Jay shrugged. They looked at the centaur, who didn't answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar, which stood out, livid, on Harry's forehead.

"You are the Potter boy," he said. "You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not a safe at this time – especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way.

"My name is Firenze," he added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs so that Harry and Jay could clamber on to his back.

There was suddenly a sound of galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

"Firenze!" Bane thundered. "What are you doing? You have humans on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realise who these people are?" said Firenze. "These are the Potter boys. The quicker they leave the forest, the better."

"What have you been telling him?" growled Bane. "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

Ronan pawed the ground nervously.

"I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,' he said, in his gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger.

"For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not out business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!'

Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Harry had to grab onto Jay, who was sitting in front of him, to stop himself from falling off.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed at Bane. "Do you not understand why it was it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

And Firenze whisked around; with Jay keeping hold of him so he and his brother didn't fall off, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

Harry didn't have a clue of what going on.

"Why's Bane so angry?" he asked. "What was that thing you saved us from, anyway?"

Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry and Jay to keep their heads bowed in case of low-hanging branches but did not answer Harry's question. They made their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought Firenze didn't want to talk to them any more. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped.

"Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No," said Harry, startled by the odd question. "We've only used the horn and tail-hair in Potions."

"It is used to keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death," said Jay.

"What?"

"It is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. Drinking the blood will keep you alive, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself and you will have but a half life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Harry stared at the back of Firenze's head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight.

"But who'd be that desperate?" he wondered aloud. "If you're going to be cursed for ever, death's better, isn't it?"

"It is," Firenze agreed, "Unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else – something that will bring you bring to full strength and power – something that will mean you can never die. Mr Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

"The Philosopher's Stone! Of course – the Elixir of Life! But I don't understand who –"

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"

It was as though as iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: "Some say he died. Codswallop in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."

"Do you mean to say," Harry croaked, "that was _Vol_ –"

"Jay! Harry! Are you two alright?"

Hermione was running towards them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

"I'm fine," said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying. "The unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there."

"This is where I leave you," Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. "You two are safe now."

Harry and Jay slid off his back.

"Good luck, Harry and Jay Potter," said Firenze. "The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry and Jay shivering behind him.

Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Harry roughly shook him awake. In a matter of seconds, though, he was wide-eyed as Harry began to tell him and Hermione what had happened in the forest.

Harry couldn't sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire. He was still shaking.

"Snape wants the stone for Voldemort … and Voldemort's waiting in the forest … and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich …"

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

Harry wasn't listening.

"Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done … Bane was furious … he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen … They must show that Voldemort's coming back … Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me … I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"_Will you stop saying the name!_" Ron hissed.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the stone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off … Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

"But it doesn't make sense!" Jay blurted out. This was the first time he had spoken since leaving the forest. "All the books I have read on Voldemort –" Ron moaned, "– say he's hiding out somewhere in Albanian, with out power, with out support and with out a body. So tell me this, how is he in the forest with a body?"

The other three fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.

When Harry finally pulled back his sheets later that night, he was to be surprised one more time; there folded neatly underneath his sheets was his Invisibility Cloak. There was a note pinned to it:

_Just in case_


	16. 1:16: Through the Trapdoor

So sorry everybody. I know I said that I would post a new chapter every day but I've had a big family emergency and this is the first time in a week that I've been home and awake at the same time. So to really say that I'm sorry, I'm going to post the last two chapters but then that's it for a while, I don't know when I'm going to be able to post the new book, but I promise you that I will. And that brings me to the next thing, should I continue to post the second story with this one, like as a new chapter? Or should I create a completely new story? Tell me what I should do because I have no idea! And I will read what you sent when this has all finished. Thanks for sticking with me and I will cya when I next get on. I'm sorry again.

– CHAPTER SIXTEEN –

**Through the Trapdoor**

In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to get though his exams when he half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written paper. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.

They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox – points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness Potion.

Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his trip into the forest. Neville thought Harry had a bad case of exam nerves because Harry couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Harry kept being woken by his old nightmare, except that it was now worst than ever because there was hooded figure dripping blood in it.

Harry wasn't the only one having nightmares. Late into the night he could he hear his brother crying out: "No, leave me alone, I don't want to –"

"Jay! Wake up," said Harry, violently shaking Jay awake one night.

"No! Don't take me! I want to stay!"

"Jay!"

"What?" Jay sat up suddenly. He was covered in sweat and his sheets were all twisted. "What wrong, Harry?"

"You, you were having a nightmare."

"Oh, don't worry about me, you just get some sleep for the exam tomorrow."

"You were screaming at someone. It sounded like they were hurting you."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Jay, you sounded scared."

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" said Jay lying back down and rolling away from Harry.

"Has it got anything to do with the figure in the forest?' said Harry.

Jay didn't answer.

"If it makes you fell better, I'm having nightmares about him."

Jay rolled back over to face his brother. "Harry, everyone gets nightmare, it's not something new. Just go back to bed. I'm fine."

"Ron and Hermione aren't getting nightmares."

"They didn't see the figure in the forest."

"So it is about the figure."

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry, grudgingly, went back to bed.

It was true that Ron or Hermione didn't wake up in the middle of the night panting and covered in sweat after a nightmare. In fact, they didn't seem as worried about the Stone as much as Harry or Jay. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them, but he didn't kept visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with their revision they didn't have much time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry couldn't help cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione, as they joined the crowds flocking out into the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learnt about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterwards, but Ron said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows.

"No more revision," Ron sight happily, stretching out on the grass.

"What revision?" said Jay joining him down on the grass.

"You could more cheerful, Harry," said Ron, "we've got a whole week before we find out how badly we've done; there's no need to worry yet."

Harry was rubbing his forehead.

"I wish I knew what this _means_!" he burst out angrily. "My scar keeps hurting – it's happened before, but never as often as this."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.

"I'm not ill," said Harry. "I think it's a warning … it means danger's coming …"

Ron couldn't get worked up, it was too hot.

"Harry, relax, Hermione's right, the stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once; he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

Harry nodded, but he couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was something he'd forgotten to do, something important. When he tried to explain this Hermione said, "That's just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remember we'd done that one."

"Or it could be something about Fluffy or it could be something about Norbert," said Jay half-mindedly.

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

"You're a genies Jay," said Harry.

"What did I say?" said Jay.

"We've got to go and see Hagrid now."

"Why?" panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"

"What are you on about?" said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the ground towards the forest, didn't answer.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes please," said Ron, but Harry cut across him.

"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off."

He saw the four of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows.

"It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head – that's one of the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face he kept his hood up."

Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas.

"What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. "Yeah … he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here … He asked a bit about the sorta creature I look after … so I told him … an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon … an' then … I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks … Let's see … Yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted … but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn't want it ter go ter any old home … So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy …"

"And did he – did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Well – yeah – how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep –"

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey – where're yeh goin'?"

Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the Entrance Hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see him.

"We'll just have to –" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you three doing inside?"

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, rather bravely, Harry, Jay and Ron thought.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fish thing to want to do. "Why?"

Harry swallowed – now what?

"We want to talk to him about something we found out," said Jay.

"Really," said Professor McGonagall. "And what was that?"

The four of them looked at each other.

"It's just between us five," said Jay, but he wished at once he hadn't, because Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

"He's _gone?_" said Harry frantically. "_Now?_"

"Professor Dumbledore is a great wizard, Potter; he has many demands on his time –"

"But this is important."

"Something that you have found out is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter."

"Look," said Harry, throwing caution to the winds, "Professor – it's about the Philosopher's Stone –"

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms but she didn't pick them up.

"How do you –?"

"Professor, I think – I know – that Sn – that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally. "I don't know how you four found out about the stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Professor –"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. "I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

But they didn't

"It's tonight," said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note; I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

"But what can we –"

Hermione gasped. Harry, Jay and Ron wheeled round.

Snape was staring there.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

They stared at him.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

"We were –" said Harry but Jay cut in.

"Just talking to Professor McGonagall, about our test results."

"Really," said Snape. He glared at the four of them. "You want to be more careful. Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can they?"

Harry flushed. They turned to go back outside, but Snape called them back.

"Be warned, Potter – any more night-time wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

He strode off in the direction of the stuff room.

Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others.

"Right, here's what we've got to do," he whispered urgently. "One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape – wait outside the stuff room and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione and Jay, you'd better do that."

"Why us?" said Hermione.

"It's obvious," said Ron. "You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know." He put on a high voice, "Oh Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong …"

"Oh, shut up," snapped Hermione.

"I'm so not doing that," said Jay.

"No, you can follow Snape under the Invisibility Cloak when Hermione is talking to Professor Flitwick."

"Sounds like a plan."

"And we'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor," Harry told Ron. "Come on."

But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than Professor McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper.

"I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!" she stormed. "Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you've come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own house!"

Harry and Ron went back to the common room. Harry had just said, "At least Jay and Hermione are on Snape's tail," when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Jay and Hermione came in.

"Sorry bro," said Jay as he sat in the chair next to Ron, "Snape came out and asked Hermione what she was doing, she said she was waiting for Flitwick, so Hermione was stuck with Flitwick and I followed Snape but he turned a corner and when I got there he had disappeared, I don't know where he went."

"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry said.

The other three stared at him. He was pale and his eyes were glittering.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first."

"You're mad!" said Ron

"You can't!" said Hermione. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

"SO WHAT?" Harry shouted. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't mater and more, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor win the house cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursley and wait for Voldemort to find me there. It's only dying a bit later than I would have done, because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you three say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?"

"Our parents, Harry, he killed our parents so I'm going with you and nothing you can say can stop me."

"We will use the Invisibility Cloak," said Harry. "Good thing we got it back."

"But will it cover all four of us?" said Ron.

"All – all four of us?"

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd miss out on an adventure do you?"

"Of course not," said Hermione briskly. "How do you think you'd get to the Stone without the three of us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful ..."

"But if we get caught, you two will be expelled too."

"Not if I can help it," said Hermione grimly. "Flitwick told me in secret that I got hundred and twelve per cent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that."

After dinner the four of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Harry any more, after all. This was the first night he hadn't been upset by it. Hermione was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try and break. Harry, Jay and Ron didn't talk much. The three of them were thinking about what they were about to do.

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

"Now is a better time then any," said Ron. "Got the cloak?"

Jay got up and picked up the cloak he had been sitting on.

"Hold on," said Harry as he ran up stairs. He rummaged through his trunk until he found what he was looking for; the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He didn't feel like singing Fluffy to sleep.

He ran back down to the common room.

"We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all four of us," said Harry. "If Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own –"

"What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room. Neville appeared behind an armchair clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.

"We were just talking, Neville," said Jay, hurriedly putting the cloak behind his back.

Neville stared at their guilty faces.

"You're going out again," he said.

"No, no, no," said Hermione. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"

Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

"You can't go out," said Neville, "You'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

"You don't understand," said Harry, "this is important."

But Neville was clearly setting himself up to do something desperate.

"I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. "I'll – I'll fight you!"

"_Neville_," Ron exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot –"

"Don't you call me an idiot!" said Neville. "I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yes, but not to _us_," said Ron in exasperation. "Neville, you don't know what you're doing."

He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt out of sight."

"Go on then, try and hit me!" said Neville, raising his fists. "I'm ready!"

Harry turned to Jay and Hermione.

"_Do something_," he said desperately.

Hermione stepped forward.

"Neville," she said, "I'm really, really sorry about this."

She raised her wand.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" she cried, pointing it at Neville.

Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood. Jay grabbed him just before he was about to fall and laid him gently on to his back.

Neville's jaws were jammed together so he couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

"What've you done to him? Harry whispered.

"It's the full Body-Bind," said Hermione miserably. "Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry."

"We had to, Neville, no time to explain," said Harry.

"You'll understand later, Neville," said Ron.

"Don't worry, Neville, the effects of the jinx will wear off by morning, just try and get some sleep," said Jay, as they stepped over him and pulled on the Invisibility Cloak.

But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn't feel like a very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them.

At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs Norris skulking near the top.

"Oh, let's kick her, just this once," Ron whispered in Harry's ear, but Harry shook his head. As they carefully around her, Mrs Norris turned her lamp-like eyes on them, but didn't do anything.

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

"Who's there?" he said suddenly as they climbed towards him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

"Should call Filch, I should, if something's creeping around unseen."

Harry had a sudden idea.

"Peeves," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron had his own reasons for being invisible."

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr Baron, sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake – I didn't see you – of course I didn't, you're invisible – forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

And he scooted off.

"_Brilliant_, Harry!" whispered Ron.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third floor corridor – and the door was already ajar.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly. "Snape's already got past Fluffy."

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all four of them what was facing them. Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other three.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the cloak, I won't need it now."

"And let my only brother face dangers unmanageable. No we are doing this together, all four of us."

"There is no way we're going back now," said Ron.

"We're coming," said Hermione.

Harry pushed the door open.

As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't see them.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well, here it goes …"

He put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased – it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the cloak and crept towards the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!"

"Oh, you're such a scaredy cat," said Jay. "I guess I will have to go first." He steeped carefully over the dog's legs. He bent down and pulled the ring of the trapped, which swung up and open.

"What can you see?" Hermione said anxiously.

"I can see Snape."

"What," said the other three. Harry had stopped playing; he rushed over to the trapdoor.

"Snape's not down there," he said. "Its pitch black."

"Harry play the stupid flute!"

"What?" said Harry as turned around. The dog had woken up and was growling again. It was showing all of its big long, pointed fangs in its three big drawling mouths.

"JUMP!"

The four of them jumped down the hole in to darkness, just as the Fluffy started to thrash around its heads and try to bite them.

FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump they landed on something soft.

"Well great one Ernestine, stop playing the stupid flute."

"Well if you hadn't said Snape was down here."

How was I supposed to know you where going to stop –"

Hermione screamed.

"What?"

"The plant! It's attacking us!"

"What plant?" said Harry.

"The plant we landed on you idiot," said Ron.

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione; they were all fighting against a plant that was twisting in a snakelike sense around them.

Harry looked down and saw that it too was twisting around him. Harry started to struggle against the strangling vines of the plant but the harder he fought the tighter the plant wound around him.

"Stop moving!" Hermione ordered them. "I know what this is – it's Devil's Snare!"

"Oh, I'm glad we know what it's called, that's a great help," snarled Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant curling around his neck."

"Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" said Hermione.

"Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!" Harry gasped, wrestling with is as it curled around his chest.

"We are all suffering here, Harry. Now let's think. Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare … What did Professor Sprout say?"

"It likes the dark and the dump," said Jay pulling a vine away from his mouth.

"So light a fire!" Harry choked.

"Yes – of course – but there's no wood!" Hermione cried, wringing with the plant.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Ron bellowed. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

"_Lumus Solem_!" cried Jay. A great burst of light came out Jay wand. In a matter of seconds, the plant loosened its grip on the four kids as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies and they were able to pull free.

"I was getting to that," said Hermione panting for air.

"Yes, well when you said there was no wood, I got a bit scared," said Jay

"No wood,_ honestly,_" muttered Ron. "Don't want to lose your head in a crisis, Hermione,"

"This way," said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway which was the only way on.

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water tricking down the walls. The passageway sloped downwards and Harry was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, he remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards' banks. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon – Norbert was bad enough …

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered.

Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?"

"I don't know … sounds like wings to me."

"There's light ahead – I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly-lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy, wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" said Ron.

"Probably," said Harry. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once Well, there's nothing for it … I'll run."

He took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms and sprinted across the room. He expected to feel sharp beaks and claws tearing at him any second, but nothing happened. He reached the door untouched. He pulled the handle, but it was locked.

The other three followed him. They tugged and heaved at the door, but it wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried the Alohomora charm.

"Now what?" said Ron.

"These birds … they can't be here just for decoration," said Hermione.

"They're a funny bred of birds, nothing like these back in the Muggle world," said Jay staring curiously up at the birds.

"They're not birds!" Harry said suddenly, "they're _keys_! Winged keys – look carefully. So that must mean …" he looked around the chamber while the other three squinted up at the flock of keys. "… Yes – look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

"But there are _hundreds_ of them!"

Ron examined the lock on the door.

"We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver like the handle."

They seized a broomstick each and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one.

Not for nothing, though, was Harry the youngest Seeker in a century. He had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

"That one!" he called to the others. "That big one – there – no, there – with bright-blue wings – the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

Ron went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crushed into the wall and nearly fell off his broom.

"We've got to close in on it!" Harry called, not taking his eyes off the key with the damaged wing. "Ron, you come at it from above – Hermione, stay below and stop it going down – Jay, come it from the left – and I'll try and catch it. Right, NOW!"

Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upwards as Jay shot like a bullet straight at it, they key dodged them all and Harry streaked after it; it sped towards the wall, Harry leant forward and with a nasty crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. Jay, Ron and Hermione cheers echoed around the high chamber.

They landed quickly and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned – it worked. The moment the lock had click open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had caught twice.

"Ready?" Harry asked the other three, his hand on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessman, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione shivered slightly – the towering white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?" Harry whispered.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We've got to play our way across the room."

Behind the white pieces they could see another door.

"How?" said Hermione nervously.

"I think," said Ron, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

"Do we – er – have to join you to get across?"

The black knight nodded. Ron turned to the other three.

"This wants thinking about …" he said. "I suppose we've got to take the place of four of the black pieces …"

Harry, Jay and Hermione stayed quite, watching Ron think. Finally he said to Harry and Hermione, "Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess –"

"We're not offended," said Harry quickly.

"I am."

"Well not you, we can work together. These white pieces aren't going to miss around."

"Nah, it's alright. I'll just give a word of advice now and then."

"Right," said Ron a little taken back. "Right, well, Harry you take the place of that bishop, Hermione, you go there instead of that castle and Jay –"

"I bags the queen."

"Ok, you can go as the queen then."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to be a night," said Ron.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words the queen, a knight, a bishop and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board leaving four empty squares which Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione took.

"White always plays first in chess," said Ron, peering across the board. "Yes … look they're moving.

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Harry's knees were trembling. What if hey lost?

"Harry – move diagonally four squares to the right."

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board; where he lay quite still, face down.

"Had to let that happen," said Ron, looked shaken. "Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on."

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Harry, Jay or Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the board taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think – let me think …"

The white queen turned her blank face towards him.

"Yes …" said Ron softly, "it's the only way … I've got to be taken."

"NO!" Harry and Hermione shouted.

"That's chess!" snapped Ron. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I make my move and she'll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!"

"What, no! Jay, tell him his mad."

"Ron you're mad and that's why it's going to work."

"Jay –"

"Look we need to stop Snape, this is the only way."

"Ron –"

"If you don't hurry up, he'll already have the stone!"

There was nothing else for it.

"Ready?" Ron called his face pale but determined. "Here I go – now, don't hang around once you've won."

He stepped forward and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron around the head with her stone arm and he crushed to the floor – Hermione screamed but stayed on her square – the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out.

Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Ron, Harry, Jay and Hermione charged through the door and up the next passageway.

"What if he's –?"

"He'll be alright," said Harry, trying to convince himself. "What do you reckon is next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare – Flitwick must've put charms on the keys – McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive – that leaves Quirrell's spell – and Snape's …"

They had reached another door.

"Alright?" Harry whispered.

"Go on."

"Let's do it."

Harry pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making the three of them pull their robes up over their nose. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled on Halloween, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry whispered, as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. "Come on, I can't breathe."

He pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next – but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently-shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"Snape's," said Harry. "What do we have to do?"

They stepped over the threshold and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot in the doorway leading onwards. They were trapped.

"Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry and Jay looked over her shoulder to read it:

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drink back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in the line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side:_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend:_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Hermione let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was smiling, the very last thing he felt like doing.

"_Brilliant_," said Hermione. "This isn't magic – it's logic – a puzzle. A lot of the greatest haven't got an ounce of logic; they'd be stuck in here for ever."

"But so will we, won't we?"

"Of course not, said Hermione. "Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire and one will get us safely through the purple."

"But how do we know which to drink?"

"Give me a minute."

Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.

"Got it," she said.

"About time," said Jay who was behind looking at the bottles as well. "I got it ages ago."

"How? You didn't have the paper?"

"Photographic memory."

"Well then which one will get you though the black fire?"

Jay pointed to the smallest of the bottles. Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," he said. "That's hardly one swallow."

Jay examined the bottle; "I think you could get two people though the fire with this."

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?" said Harry

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

"You drink that," said Harry. "No listen – get back and get Ron – grab brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy – go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him –"

"No send Deilvtorm, he's faster."

"Just send an owl to Dumbledore. We might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but we're no match for him really."

"But Harry – what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

"Well – I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar. "Might get lucky again and Jay will look after me."

"All the way."

Hermione's lip trembled and she suddenly dashed at Harry and Jay and threw her arms around them.

"_Hermione!_"

"Harry – you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of the boys.

"Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things – friendship and bravery and – oh Harry – be _careful!_"

"Ok don't want to rush you but we got a Snape to kill," said Jay

"And Jay, don't do anything stupid."

"Hermione, how can you say that? I'm always doing stupid things; I jumped in front of a falling club once."

Hermione gave a weak smile.

"You drink first," said Harry. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?"

"Positive," said Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end and shuddered.

"It's not poison?" said Harry anxiously.

"No – but it's like ice."

"Quick, go before it wears off."

"Good luck – take care –"

"GO!"

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire.

"Ok, you go first Jay."

"Making sure the potion works first, hey?" said Jay as he picked up the bottle and drank a small amount. "Ahh, she was right, ice."

"Go though."

"See you on the other side," he handed Harry the bottle and walked right though the black flames.

Harry took a deep breath then drank the rest of potion that was in the bottle

It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, he saw the black flames licking his body but couldn't feel them – for a moment he could see nothing but dark fire – then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

But there was already someone there – but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.


	17. 1:17: The Man with Two Faces

Here's the last chapter, as I promised, hope you like it and I will see you when I get the next half an hour to myself.

– CHAPTER SEVENTEEN –

**The Man with Two Faces**

It was Jay and he stood a gasped at the other person who stood at the other end of the chamber.

"_You!_" gasped Harry.

Professor Quirrell turned around and smiled at the brothers. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you two here."

"But I thought – Snape –"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry couldn't take it in. This could be true, it couldn't

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

"No, no, no. _I_ tried to kill you. You friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at the Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then it Snape hadn't been muttering his little counter-curse, trying to save you."

"Snape tried to _save_ me?"

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really … he needed have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor winning, he _did_ make himself unpopular … and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry and Jay.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school at Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"_You_ let the troll in?" said Jay

"Certain. I have a special gift with trolls – you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around the dungeons looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off – and not only did my troll fail to beat you two to death, that three-headed dog –"

"Fluffy!"

"– didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly.

"Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then did Harry and Jay realise what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this … but he's in London … I'll be far away by the time he gets back …"

All Harry could think of doing was keep Quirrell talking and stop him concentrating on the mirror.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest –" he blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me – as though he could, when I had the Dark Lord on my side …"

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone … I'm presenting it to my master … but where is it?"

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. He _had_ to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you _dead_."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing – I thought Snape was threatening you …"

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instruction – he is a great wizard and I am weak –"

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Jay gasped.

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. The Dark Lord showed me how wrong I was., There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it … Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me … decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me …"

Quirrell's voice tailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon Alley – how could he have been so stupid? He'd _seen_ Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand … is the Stone _inside_ the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind was racing.

What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it – which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realising what I'm up to?

He tried to edge to the left, to go in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry and Jay's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boys … Use the boys …"

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes – Potters – come here –"

He clapped his hands once and the ropes binding Harry and Jay fell off. Harry and Jay slowly got to their feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry and Jay exchanged worried looks and walked towards Quirrell.

"I must lie," Harry thought desperately. "I must look and lie about what I see, that's all."

Quirrell moved close behind them. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror and opened them again.

He saw his and his brother's reflection; they were pale and scared-looked. But a moment later, Harry's reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket – and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow – incredibly – _he'd got the Stone._

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry screwed up his courage.

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented. "I – I've won the house cup for Gryffindor."

"And you," Quirrell said hitting Jay in the back of the head.

"I see myself killing you," said Jay calmly.

"You!" Quirrell pushed Jay into the floor. Harry ran over to him and helped him back up.

"I have the stone," whispered Harry in Jay's ear.

Jay gave Harry a shocked looked then pulled him toward the exit.

But they hadn't even walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies … Harry Potter lies …"

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to them … face to face …"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough … for this …"

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the stop. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had even seen. It was chalk-white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter …" it whispered.

Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move. He tried to look at his brother but he couldn't tear his eyes away for the face that had been hunting his dreams.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapour … I have form only when I can share another's body … but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds … Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks … you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest … and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own … Now … why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket, Harry Potter?"

So he knew. Jay stepped in front of Harry.

"To get to him, you have to get though me," Jay raised his wand at Voldemort.

Voldemort laughed, "Jay Potter, lived though the blast, I see … You don't mean much to me … I don't care if you live or die … so I will spare your life if you give me that Stone …"

"But not my brother's?"

"Better too save your own life and join me … or you and your brother will meet the same sticky end as your parents … They died begging me for mercy …"

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly, stepped out from behind Jay; he had gotten the feeling back in his legs.

Quirrell was walking backwards at them, so that Voldemort could still see them. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching …" it hissed. "I always value bravery … Yes, your parents were brave … I killed your father first and he put up a courageous fight … but your mother needn't have died … she was trying to protect you … Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

Harry sprang towards the flame door, but Voldemort screamed, "SEIZE HIM!" and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened – he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone. Jay had tackled Quirrell to the ground

"GET OFF ME!" said Quirrell and threw Jay across the room.

"Seize him! SEIZE HARRY POTTER!" shrieked Voldemort again and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands on Harry's neck – Harry's scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold him – my hands – my hands!"

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry down to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms – Harry could see they looked burnt, raw, red and shinny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse but an arm appeared around Quirrell's neck. Jay had thrown Quirrell of Harry.

"RUN HARRY! GET OUT OF HERE!" screamed Jay.

Harry stayed rooted on the spot.

"RUN! GET DUMBLEDORE!"

But how could Harry leave his only brother?

Quirrell grabbed Jay and threw him off himself. Jay tumbled to the ground. Quirrell raised his wand, he picked Jay up with it and threw him across the room, where Jay smashed in the wall with a loud crash and lay quiet still.

Quirrell started to advance on Harry. Harry did what he had to do; he reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face.

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell pushed Harry away, his face blistering too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain – his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him doing a curse.

Harry jumped at Quirrell and caught him by the arm and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off – the pain in Harry's head was building – he couldn't see – he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying, "Harry! Harry!"

He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, he knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down … down … down …

Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.

He blinked again. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.

He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him. Then he remembered. "Sir! My brother he's hurt! It was Quirrell! He hurt my brother and stole the Stone! Sir, quick –"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind times," said Dumbledore. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"My brother! How's my brother?"

"See for yourself." Dumbledore pointed to the bed next his.

"I feel so appreciated, the first thing you say is 'Where is my brother?'. Oh, I can feel the affection," said Jay. He looked well coloured and healthy. "Oh, Harry, just one thing. When I say run, get out of here. I mean for you to run and get out of there. Not stand around looking pretty!"

Harry mouth curved into a great big smile, his brother was all right. He looked more around the room he was in – it was the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the sweet shop.

"Tokens from your and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you, your brother and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe you friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have we been in here?"

"Three days. Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you two have come around, Jay had just come around when I arrived half and hour ago."

"But sir, the Stone –"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you two were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

"We must have crossed in mid-air. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that he place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you Harry –"

"It was _you_."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer –"

"Not the Stone, boy, you – the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend – Nicolas Flamel –"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You _did_ do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry and Jay's faces.

"To one as young as you two, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, _very_ long day. After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all – the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things which are worst for them."

Harry and Jay lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Sir?" said Harry. "'I've been thinking … sir – even if the Stone's gone, Vol – I mean, You-Know-Who –"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for something. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share … not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; which shows just how little mercy he has to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, while you two may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems losing battle next time – and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me … things I want to the truth about …"

"The truth." Dumbledore sighted. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall, of course, lie."

"Well … Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighted very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know one day … put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older … I know you hate to hear this … when you are ready, you will know."

Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realise that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign … to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

"But Quirrell could touch Jay. When he jumped on him, Quirrell didn't burn."

"That is because Voldemort was after you that night. Your mother knew that so she protected you not your brother. Therefore her mark of love on him is not as strong as the mark of love on you."

"The affection I was just feeling," said Jay, "gone."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the window-still, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, "And the Invisibility Cloak – do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah – your father happened to leave it in my possession and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eye's twinkled. "Useful things … your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else …"

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape –"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry."

"Yes, him – Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"_What?_"

"Yes …" said Dumbledore dreamily. "Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt … I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father quits. Then he could go back to hating you father's memory in peace …"

Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped.

"And sir, there's one more thing …"

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the Mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone – find it, but not use it – would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes ... Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertis Bott's Every Flavour Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them – but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, "Alas! Earwax!"

Madam Pomfrey, the matron, was a nice woman, but very strict.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.'

"You let Professor Dumbledore in," said Jay

"Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You two need _rest_."

"We are resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey …"

"Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes _only_."

And she let Ron and Hermione in.

"Jay! Harry!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around them again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore.

"Oh, you two, we were sure you were going to – Dumbledore was so worried –"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron. "What _really_ happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumours. Harry and Jay told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places and when Harry told them about what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to _die?_"

"That's what we said, but Dumbledore thinks – what was it, Jay?"

"'To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure'."

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how mad his hero was.

"So what happened to you two?" said Harry.

"Well, I got back alright," said Hermione. "I brought Ron round – that took a while – and we were dashing up to the Owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the Entrance Hall. He already knew – he just said, "They've gone after him, haven't they?" and hurtled off to the third floor."

"D'you think he meant you two to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you guys your father's cloak and everything?"

"Well," Hermione exploded, "if he did – I mean to say – that's terrible – you two could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give us a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought me and Jay had the right to face Voldemort if we could …"

"Yeah, Dumbledore's barking, alright," said Ron proudly. "Hey what's up with you?" Ron through a pillow at Jay who was just staring out into space again.

"Who me?" said Jay snapping back in to reality. "I was just wondering what would happen if we didn't go after the Stone. Would Voldemort be back? Or would Dumbledore have gotten to Quirrell before he had gotten the Stone?"

"The main thing is that we did stop him and he is not wondering killing people," said Harry.

"Listen, you two have got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow," said Ron. "The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course – you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you Harry – but the food'll be good."

At that moment Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT," she said firmly.

After a good night's sleep, Harry and Jay felt nearly back to normal.

"We want to go to the feast," Harry told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened his many sweets boxes. "We can, can't we?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you two will be allowed to go," she said sniffily, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realise how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh good," said Harry. "Who is it?"

Hagrid sidled through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down between Harry and Jay, took one look at them and burst into tears.

"It's – all – my – ruddy – fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands. "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid, it's ok, Voldemort didn't get the Stone, No one died – well Quirrell did but that's not a big lost," said Jay.

"And he'd have found out somehow," said Harry, who was shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse and great big tears leaking down into his bread. "This is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him."

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say that name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry and Jay bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying.

"We've met him and we are calling him by his name," said Harry. "Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, we've got loads …"

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh guy a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harry anxiously and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he should sacked me instead – anyway, got yeh this …"

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously as Jay got out of bed to see what it was. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were their mother and father.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old friends, askin' fer photos … Knew yeh guys didn't have any … D'yeh like it?"

"It's perfect Hagrid," said Jay. "Just what we need."

Harry was speechless.

Harry and Jay made their way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. They had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving them one last check-up, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry and Jay walked in there was a sudden hush and then everybody started talking loudly at once. Harry sat down next to Ron as Jay took the sit next to him and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. Harry tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at them.

Fortunately Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into out delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were … you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts …

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with two hundred and fifty-two points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and forty-six points; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherin's smiles' faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes …

"First – to Mr Ronald Weasley …"

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with bad sunburn.

"… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again.

"Second – to Miss Hermione Granger … for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves – they were a hundred points up.

"Third – to Mr Jay Potter … for risking his own life to save another, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

"Sixty points!" yelled Jay over the roars of the other Gryffindors. "I risk my own life for you, that's worth so much more than sixty points!"

"Fourthly – to Mr Harry Potter …" said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points – exactly the same as Slytherin. They had drawn for the house cup – if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but it takes just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harry, still cheering, nudged Jay and Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind curse put on him.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and he silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible forced smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's feeling towards him hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch or Christmas or knocking out mountain trolls … he would never, ever forget tonight.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good marks and, to Hermione's dislike; Jay came top of the year with a perfect score. Even Neville scarped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he passed, too. It was as shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling into platform nine and three quarters at King's Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron, "all of you – I'll send you an owl."

"That's less time spent at the Dursley's," said Jay.

"Yeah, we need something to look forward to this summer," said Harry

People jostled them as they moved forward towards the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some called:

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at him.

He and Jay passed through the gateway together closely followed by Ron and Hermione.

"There he is, Mum, there he is, look!"

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron.

"Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mum! I can see –"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."

Mrs Weasley smiled down at them

"Busy year?" she said.

"Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the fudge and the jumper, Mrs Weasley."

"You make the best fudge," said Jay. "I had to find the spell to copy food and perform it on them. I just couldn't get enough of them."

"Oh, that's very sweet dear. You can copy food at your age?"

"Oh it wasn't that hard."

"Ready, are you?"

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still moustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry and Jay, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of them.

"You must be Harry and Jay's family!" said Mrs Weasley.

"In a manner of speaking," said Uncle Vernon. "Hurry up, boys, we haven't got all day," He walked away.

Harry and Jay hung back for a last word with Ron and Hermione.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you two have – er – a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

"Oh, we will," said Harry, and they were surprised at the grins, that was spreading over the brother's faces.

"They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home."

"We're going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer …"


	18. The Darkness Within: Book Two

Well, here I am, back again after a very, very long break, sorry about that. I have been ready to give you guys this chapter for a while now but I just wanted to finish something off in the four book before I started posting the second and I've done that so here it is, the second book in the life of Jay, so to speak. Hope you enjoy it and I will see you in a week or two for the next chapter. Oh yeah! Did I tell you? I'm not going to be posting this book as fast as the last one because this one, in my opinion, is better than the last and I want to drag it out and get over and done with but you will have the next chapter in the next two weeks, so see you then, hope you enjoy and please review!! Oh and yeah, as you have noticed i'm posting this on the same story thing as the first one, that's because a lot of you have only this story on alert and not me as an author so to save me going through and saying to everyone that i got new story out that follows onto this i just suck to the same story, document, thing. If anyone as an objections say "I" and that's it, now get on with this short chapter. Oh and one other things, nah i'm only joking, just making you read more and making you have to read even more before the story, ok, i'll let go. ENJOY!!

**The Prodigy **

The darkness runs deep,

Deeper then i have ever imained

**The Darkness Within**

The Chamber of Secrets has been opened again and the horror within is hunting, hunting for the blood of Muggle-borns but this monster didn't count on something, it didn't count on Jay Potter being at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. So how will this hot, smart, cocky wizard tackle The Darkness Within?

By J. K .Rowling and Nicole Andrew

Based on the book Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

– CHAPTER ONE –

**The Worst Birthday**

For the first time in a month Mr Vernon Dursley was looking cheerful as he sat at the breakfast table of number four, Privet Drive. It was the first night which he had not been woken up in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephews Harry and Jay's room.

"You've finally kept those owls under control, have you?" he said cheerfully. "What did you do, tape their beck's shut?"

Harry and Jay tried to keep their smiles under wrap as they ate their breakfast but their uncle saw the guilt on their faces.

"You didn't let them out did you?" he asked eyeing them suspiciously.

"How could we? You bolted their cages shut so we couldn't open them. That means that we _can't_ get them out. Do you get my drift?" said Jay and, in Harry's opinion, he had a very straight face for this very funny situation.

Uncle Vernon studied his nephew's faces but before he could press the matter a long, loud belch came from the Dursley's son: Dudley Dursley.

"I want more bacon."

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Petunia Dursley, Vernon Dursley's wife. "We must feed you up while we've got the chance … I don't like the sound of that school food …"

"Nonsense, Petunia, _I_ never went hungry when _I_ was at Smelting," said Uncle Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you son?"

Dudley, who was so large his bottom dropped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry and Jay.

"Pass the frying pan."

"What do we look like?" snapped Jay. "Your servants who will do anything for you? I don't think so. Get it yourself; you need the exercise anyway. In fact, you shouldn't even be having your fifth serve of bacon, you're so fat."

Uncle Vernon hit Jay over the head with the newspaper that was in his hand.

"Oh my god, that hurt so much," said Jay in the most sarcastic voice he could put on, "please don't do that again," Going back to normal, "If you're so worried about Dudley not getting fed enough at school, send him to Hogwarts, the food's –"

Jay's sentence was cut short by the reaction the Dursley's had on the word 'Hogwarts': Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Mrs Dursley gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr Dursley jump to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.

Jay was gripping the edge of the table with a look of terrier on his face. "Did you feel that? It felt like an earthquake!"

Harry couldn't hold it in anymore; he burst out laughing which only made Uncle Vernon angrier.

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU TWO," thundered their uncle, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT MENTIONING YOUR SCHOOL UNDER THIS ROOF?"

"I don't know," said Jay looking stupid. "You've only said it a thousand times."

"AND STILL YOU CAN'T GET IT THROUGH THAT THINK HEAD OF YOURS!" roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.

"Actually I'm quite smart for a wiz –"

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE THE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

"ABNORMALITY? THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH US!" Jay shouted back.

"NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU? MY DEAR BOY, _EVERYTHING_ IS WRONG ABOUT YOU!"

Jay suddenly stood up. Uncle Vernon cowered as he raised his fist but Jay thought better of it and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Harry stared from his purple-faced uncle to his pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

"Well … I'll just … go …"

"You will do no such thing," said Uncle Vernon sitting back down. "I'm not letting you two to go off and plan some way to get back at us. You're staying right there."

Uncle Vernon got back to his breakfast, breathing like a winded rhinocerous and watching Harry closely out of the corner of his small, sharp eyes.

Ever since Harry and Jay had come back to Privet Drive for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had been treating them like a bomb that might go off at any moment (in Jay's case, he did go off at them every chance he got), this was because Harry and Jay weren't what the Dursley would call normal. As a matter of fact, they weren't normal in many people's eyes.

Harry and Jay were wizards – wizards fresh from their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have them back for the holidays, it was nothing to how Harry felt and it was even worse for Jay.

Harry and Jay missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomachache. They missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, their lessons (though perhaps not Snape, the potions master), the post arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in their four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin in the grounds next to the Forbidden Forest and, especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world (six tall goal-posts, four flying balls and fourteen players on broomsticks).

All of Harry and Jay's spellbooks, their wands, robes, cauldrons and top-of-the-range Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Harry and Jay had come home. What did the Dursleys care if Harry lost his place on the house Quidditch team because he hadn't practiced all summer? What was it to the Dursleys if Harry and Jay went back to school without any of their homework done? The Dursleys were what wizard called Muggles (not a drop of magical blood in their veins) and as far as they were concerned, having not just one but _two_ wizards in the family was the worst thing that could have happened to them.

The three Dursleys looked nothing like the twins, Uncle Vernon was large and neck laced, with an enormous black moustache; Aunt Petunia was horse-faced and boney, Dudley was blond, pink and porky. Jay was tall but not lankly, he had soft, smooth features on his face, which was topped of with dark black silky hair with blond tips. His most bizarre feature was his eyes, which were a deep scarlet. Harry and Jay weren't identical twins; in fact, Harry looked nothing like his twin brother, he was small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and jet black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on his forehead was a thin, lightening-shaped scar.

It was this scar that made Harry so particularly unusual, even for a wizard. This scar was the only hint of Harry's very mysterious past, of the reason he and his brother had been left on the Dursley's doorstep eleven years before.

At the age of one, Harry had somehow survived a curse from the greatest dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still fear to speak. Harry and Jay's parents had died in Voldemort's attack, Jay didn't even have a scratch on him but Harry had escaped with his lightening scar, and somehow – nobody understood why – Voldemort's powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry.

So Harry and Jay had been brought up by their dead mother's sister and her husband. They had spent ten long years with the Dursleys, never understanding why they kept making odd things happen without meaning to; believing the Dursleys' story that Harry had gotten his scar in a car crash, which had killed their parents.

And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry and Jay, and the whole story had come out. Harry and Jay had taken up their place at wizard school, where Harry and his scar were famous … but now the school year was over, and they were back with the Dursleys for the summer, back to being treated like dogs that had rolled in something smelly.

The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be Harry and Jay's twelfth birthday. Of course, their hopes hadn't been high; they'd never given them a proper present, let alone a cake – but to ignore it completely …

At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."

Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," said Uncle Vernon.

Harry went back to his toast. Of course, he thought bitterly, Uncle Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talking of nothing else for a fortnight. Some rich builder and his snob wife were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him (Uncle Vernon's company made drills).

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be –?"

"In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"

"They'll _love_ him!" cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry. "And you and your good for nothing brother?"

Harry glared at his uncle and said: "We'll be in our bedroom, making no noise and pretending we're not there."

"Exactly," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight fifteen –"

"I'll announce dinner," said Aunt Petunia.

"And Dudley, you'll say –"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs Mason?" said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Aunt Petunia.

"And you two?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry.

"We'll be in our bedroom, making no noise and pretending we don't exist," said Harry dully.

"Precisely. Now we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're a _wonderful_ golfer, Mr Mason … Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs Mason …"

"Perfect … Dudley?"

"How about: 'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr Mason, and I wrote about you'."

This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry ducked under the table so they wouldn't see him laughing.

"And you, boy?"

Harry fought to keep his face straight as he emerged.

"We'll be in our bedroom, making no noise and pretending we're not there," he said.

"Too right you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Masons don't know anything about you two and it's going to stay that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the _News at Ten_. We'll be shopping for a holiday home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

Harry couldn't feel too excited about this. He didn't think the Dursleys would like him and Jay any better in Majorca than they did in Privet Drive.

"Right – I'm off to town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry, "you stay out of your aunt's way while she's clearing and tell your brother that, too."

Harry left through the back door to find his brother. It was a brilliant, sunny day. He saw Jay lying down on the bench, watching the clouds. Harry found his way over to him.

"What a birthday, hey?" said Jay as Harry reached him and sank on to the bench.

"No cards, no presents, and we're spending the evening pretending not to exist," sighed Harry as he gazed miserably into the hedge.

"Great friends hey, don't even remember it's our birthday."

Harry continued to gaze at the hedge as he remembered the friends that had forgotten them, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Neither of them had written to them all summer, even though Ron had said he was going to ask Harry and Jay to come and stay.

"I can't wait till those owls get back," said Jay.

"And they better bring lots of sweets, presents and sorry letters."

"Or there'll be trouble."

Harry smiled. Jay had mastered how to pick locks over the holidays, as a result, the two brothers sent very threatening letters to their two best friends last night, on why they hadn't be in contact.

"Oh, here comes an elephant," said Jay staring at the house.

Harry looked up and saw his cousin Dudley waddling towards them.

"That's Dudley, Jay."

"Oh right," said Jay squinting his eyes. "I can't tell the difference these days. Let's set him on fire."

"And get a letter from the Ministry of Magic? I don't think so."

"Ok then, torment him?"

Harry turned away and went back to gazing at the hedge. That was the only thing that was fun these days, scaring Dudley. As under-age wizards weren't allowed to use real magic outside of school and Harry and Jay, who were finding it hard to entertain themselves; had started muttering nonsense words under their breath and watching Dudley scream and shout out of the room they were in. You see the Dursleys didn't know that they couldn't do magic outside of school because if they did, they would lock Harry and Jay up in the broom cupboard with their wands and broomstick. But as the long summer days dragged on as long as Ron and Hermione's silence, taunting Dudley had lost its appeal for Harry.

"What's up, fatso?" Jay called over to Dudley.

"I know what day it is," sang Dudley.

"Finally, it only took you about twelve years to learn them," said Jay.

"Today's your _birthday_," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got any cards from your friends? What did you do? Make them vanish like that guy, last year?"

"What guy?" said Harry.

"That guy the big man was talking about."

"Voldemort?" said Jay.

"Yeah him."

"Oh no but we did meet him at the end of term …" said Jay.

Dudley looked terrified.

"No you didn't! He's gone!"

"No, we meet him face-to-face," said Jay now circling around Dudley. "And we only just got away, had to spend three weeks in the hospital …"

Harry hid his laugher; it was really three days.

"You see, you should be thanking us right now, Dudley," Jay continued.

"W-why?" stuttered Dudley.

"Because if we hadn't stopped him from coming back from the ruin of his former self then he would be right here right now murdering your parents."

"S-stop it!"

"And then he would turn to you and you would look right at his livid face, with his wide, red, mad eyes …"

Harry sat bolt upright on the garden right at the exact moment Dudley screamed "MUUUUM!" he tripped over his feet as he dashed towards the house. "MUUUMY! Jay's scaring me!"

But Jay didn't hear this; his focus was back on Harry.

"I was staring into the hedge and the hedge was _staring_ back at me," said Harry pointing at the hedge. "Two big green eyes, right there in – the leaves."

Jay looked worried.

"Are you alright –?"

"JAY POTTER!"

Jay turned around to see his Aunt Petunia storming across the yard with a soapy frying pan in her hand. Dudley was waddling behind her with a big smug look on his face.

Harry ducked as the soapy frying pan flew past Jay and over Harry's head. Then she started yelling at Jay for about hour and after that sent both of them of to do endless chores.

While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice-creams, Harry and Jay cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses and repainted the garden bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of their necks.

"Why did you have to tell him that story?" said Harry as they started to spread manure on the flowerbeds.

"Because he thinks that life's easy. He thinks everyone is going to give him what he wants and he's above everyone else."

Harry stretched his sore back and sighed.

"I can finish up here, if you want Harry?"

"Dudley would tell."

"We can make it so you _look_ like you're doing work."

Harry laughed as he got back to work.

"Wish everyone could see the famous Harry Potter now. Slaving over a flowerbed."

It was half past seven in the evening when at last, exhausted; they heard Aunt Petunia calling them in.

"Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!"

Harry and Jay moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A joint of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Aunt Petunia, pointing to two plates, each with two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.

Harry and Jay washed their hands and bolted down their pitiful supper. The moment they had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away their plates. "Upstairs! Hurry!"

As they passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets. They had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"Remember, boys – one sound …"

Harry and Jay crossed to their bedroom on tiptoe and slipped inside. Harry closed the door and turned to collapse on his bed.

The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.


	19. 2:2: Dobbys Warning

The Darkness Within

Hey everyone, welcome back!

Got the new chapter right here. :). Wonder how Jay and Dobby are going on?

Anyway, happy reading, and pretty, pretty please review :) I love to hear what you have to say about my story.

– CHAPTER TWO –

Dobby's Warning

Harry managed not to shout out, but it was a close shave. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. Harry knew instantly that this was what had been watching him out of the garden hedge that morning.

"What is that?" whispered Jay into Harry's ear.

"You're the one that's meant to have read all about magical creatures," Harry whispered as the little creature stared at them.

"Exotic and rare creatures, yes. Creature that look like _potatoes_, no," snapped Jay

Harry heard Dudley's voice from the hall: "May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"

The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm and leg holes.

"Er – hello," said Harry nervously.

"Harry Potter!" said the creature, in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir … such an honour it is …"

"Th-thank you," said Harry, stepping behind Jay. He wanted to ask, "What are you?" but thought it would sound too rude, so instead he said, "Who are you?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature.

"A house-elf?" said Jay. "Harry, with this we could cause so much trouble for the people downstairs. This could be so much fun."

"No Jay!" snapped Harry. "We would get into so much trouble. This is the worst time for us to have a house-elf in our room."

Aunt Petunia's high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head.

"Find then," said Jay sitting down on his bed and crossing his arms.

Harry looked from Jay to Dobby and saw that he still had his head hung.

"Is there any particular reason why you're here, Dobby?" asked Harry.

"Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly, raising his head. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir … it is difficult, sir … Dobby wonders where to begin …"

"Why don't you sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed.

To his, the elf burst into tears – very noisy tears.

"_S-sit down!_" he wailed. "_Never … never ever_ …"

Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs falter.

"He he," said Jay with a smile. "Looks like there's going to be trouble."

"II'm sorry," Harry, whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has _never_ been asked to sit down by a wizard – like an _equal_ –"

Harry, trying to say "Shh!" and look comforting at the same time, ushered Dobby back onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. At last he managed to control himself, and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration.

"You can't have met many decent wizards then," said Harry, trying to cheer him up.

"No I haven't," said Dobby with a weak smile. "That was an awful thing to say." His face fell. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "_Bad_ Dobby! _Bad_ Dobby!"

"Don't – what are you doing?" Harry hissed springing up and pulling Dobby back onto the bed.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir …"

"House-elves have families?" said Jay curiously.

"Yes, sir. The wizard family Dobby serves – Dobby is a house-elf so he is bound to serve one house and one family forever …"

"Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.

Dobby shuddered.

"Oh no, sir, no … Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir."

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They let Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they remind me to do extra punishments…"

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

"A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free … Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir …"

Harry stared.

"And I thought we were hard-done-by staying here for another four weeks," he said. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can't anyone help you? Can't I?"

Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude.

Jay laughed.

"And he was so nice and calm before."

"Please," Harry whispered frantically, "please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you're here …"

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby … Dobby has heard of his greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew …"

Harry, who was feeling distinctly hot in the face, said, "Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts, that's Jay and Hermione –"

But he stopped quickly, because thinking about Hermione was painful.

"Harry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He Who Must Not Be Named."

"Voldemort?" said Harry.

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned in a loud voice, "Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak –"

Harry clapped his hand other Dobby's mouth.

"Sorry," said Harry as he removed his hand. "I know heaps of people who don't like it – my friend Ron –"

He stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too.

Dobby leaned towards Harry, his eyes wide as headlamps.

"Dobby heard rumours," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago ... that Harry Potter escaped _yet again_."

"What am I? Chopped liver? I helped too!" said Jay.

Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears as he looked at the two brothers.

"Ah, sirs," he gasped, dabbling his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter; to warn him, even if he _does_ have to shut his ears in the oven door later … _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts._"

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon's voice.

"W-what?" Harry stammered. "But I have to go back – term starts on September the second. It's all that's keeping me going. You don't know what it's like here. I don't belong here. I belong in your world – at Hogwarts with Jay."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. Harry Potter is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger.

"But I'm aloud to go back to Hogwarts, right?" said Jay.

"Why?" said Harry in surprise.

"Because I am not staying here if you paid me."

"It would be good of Jay to stay,' said Dobby.

"But I don't _have_ to?"

Dobby shook his head.

"But what's going on at Hogwarts," asked Harry, glaring at Jay.

"There is a plot, sir. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head madly against the wall.

"Man, this guy's a ticking time bomb!" said Jay with an evil grin.

"Alright!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf's arm to stop him. "You can't say, I understand. But why are you warning_ us_?" a sudden, unpleasant thought struck him. "Hang on – this hasn't got anything to do with Vol – sorry – with You Know Who, has it? You could just shake or nod," he added hastily, as Dobby head tilted worrying close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not – not _He Who Must Not Be Named_, sir.'

But Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give the brothers a hint. Harry, however, was completely at sea.

"He hasn't got a brother has he?"

Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.

"Jay? You got any ideas?"

"One of his followers?" Jay said slowly.

Dobby's eyes were now so wide; Harry was surprised they didn't come out of their sockets.

"Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I mean, there's Dumbledore, for one thing – you know who Dumbledore is, don't you?"

Dobby bowed his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He Who Must Not Be Named at the height of his strength. But sir," Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper, "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't … powers no decent wizard …"

And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry's desk lamp and started beating himself around the head with ear-splitting yelps.

A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later Harry, heart thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

"Quick! In the wardrobe!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the door and flinging himself onto the bed just as the door handle turned.

"What – the – _devil_ – are – you – doing?" said Uncle Vernon through gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Jay's. "You've just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke … one more sound and you'll wish you'd never been born, the both of you!"

He stomped flat-footed from the room.

"Idiot. Didn't even notice Deilvtorm and Hedwig are gone. Why did he think it was me?" said Jay.

Harry shrugged and let Dobby out of the wardrobe.

"See what it's like here?" he said. "See why we've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the only place we've got – well, I think we've got friends."

"Friends who don't even _write_ to Harry Potter?" said Dobby slyly.

"I expect they've just been – hang on," said Harry, frowning. "How do you know our friends haven't been writing to us?"

Dobby shuffled his feet.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby – Dobby did it for the best …"

"_Have you been stopping our letter_?"

"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry and Jay's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl and even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.

"Maybe we shouldn't have sent those threatening letters," said Jay nervously.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry … Dobby hoped … if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him … Harry Potter might not want to go to school, sir."

Harry wasn't listening. He made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach.

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts, Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!'

"No," said Harry angrily. "Give me our friends' letters!"

"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice –"

"Wait!" said Jay getting to his feet. "Ok we won't go back to Hogwarts. Please give us our friends' letters."

"Jay!' said Harry but Jay held up his hand.

"Does Jay Potter lie to Dobby?"

"Just give us the letters Dobby!"

"Give Dobby your word."

"Give us the letters and I will."

Dobby stretched out a quivering hand with the letters and handed them to Jay.

"Now your word that Harry Potter will not return to Hogwarts."

"I can't do that Dobby," said Jay, pocketing the letters. "Hogwarts is our home."

"Then you leave Dobby with no choice."

Before Jay or Harry could move, Dobby darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open – and sprinted down the stairs.

Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry and Jay sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. Harry jumped the last six stairs, landing catlike on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From the dinning room he heard Uncle Vernon saying "… tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr Mason; she's been dying to hear…"

Harry and Jay ran up the hall into the kitchen and Harry felt his stomach disappear.

Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby

"No," croaked Harry. "Please … they'll kill us …"

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school –"

"Dobby … please …"

"Say it, sir …"

"I can't!"

Dobby gave him a tragic look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

Harry saw it in slow motion. The pudding came crashing down to the floor, Jay tried to catch it but he fell over and the pudding crashed right on top of him. The dish shattered on Jay as cream splattered over the windows and the walls. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished.

There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in Aunt Petunia's pudding and Jay, also covered in cream, lying on the floor, trying to stop his bleeding abdomen.

At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over ("Just our nephews – very disturbed – meeting strangers upsets them, so we kept them upstairs …") He shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised Harry and Jay he would flay them to within an inch of their life when the Mason had left, and handed them mop each. He paid no attention to the heavily bleeding cut on Jay. Aunt Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and left Harry and Jay alone.

Harry quickly ran to the first add box.

"That's going to need snitches, Jay," said Harry looking at his cut.

"But I'm not going to get that, am I?"

Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal – if it hadn't been for the owl.

Aunt Petunia was just handing round a box of after-dinner mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter on Mrs Mason's head and swooped out again. Mrs Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house, shouting about lunatics. Mr Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and asked whether this was their idea of a joke.

Harry had just gotten a needle and thread for Jay when Uncle Vernon advanced on them, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.

"Read it! He hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered. "Go on – read it!"

Harry took it. It did not contain birthday greeting.

_To the Potters,_

_We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine._

_As you both know, under-age wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spell work at your residence may lead to expulsion from your school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Under-Age Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C)._

_We would also ask you both to remember that any magical activity which risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence, under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy._

_Enjoy your Holidays!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

Harry looked up from the letter and gulped.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it … slipped your mind, I daresay …"

He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy … I'm locking you and your brother up … you two are never going back to that school … never … and if you try and magic yourself out – they'll expel you!"

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry and Jay back upstairs.

Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning, he paid a man to fit bars on Harry and Jay's window. He himself fitted the cat-flap in the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day. They let Harry and Jay out to use the bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, they were locked in their room around the clock.

Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting and Jay's cut, with Harry's dodgy stitching, had gotten infected but the Dursley's didn't care, said it was punishment and wouldn't help even though the cut was getting to be a serious dark black and purple colour. Harry lay on his bed watching his brother toss and turn, trying to get some sleep. What if he got too sick? What if the Dursley didn't help him?

Harry thought of Ron and Hermione and prayed that they would come and help him even though they sent them those letters … Harry had read all the letters his friends had sent him and they were worried about them, Ron had asked them to stay about eight times and the most resent letters had them panicking for their safety.

Harry was at the point of magicking them out (wizards are aloud to use magic in life threatening situations) but Harry was worried that if they left, Jay's cut would get worst and no one would be around to help them.

The cat-flap rattles and Aunt Petunia's hand appeared, pushing two bowls of tinned soup into the room. Harry ran to the door.

"He's not going to last much longer!" yelled Harry though the door. "He needs a doctor! Or at the very lest some proper food!"

Aunt Petunia's hand appeared again and took away one of the bowls.

"No!" cried Harry banging his fits on the door. "He will _die_ if you don't do anything!"

"You make it sound so dramatic," said Jay.

Harry looked up at Jay, smiling from his bed.

"You are really sick, Jay."

"It's a tiny scratch, nothing to get worked up over."

Harry sank to the floor. What was going to happen to them? Dobby might have saved Harry and Jay from horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but by the way things were going they were going to die anyway.

Aunt Petunia's hand appeared yet again but this time she pushed though a warm bowl of soup, as the other one was stone cold.

"Thank you," said Harry.

Harry slowly walked over to Jay and started to feed Jay but he just hit his hand away.

"I can do it myself!" said Jay talking the bowl from Harry.

Harry sighed and went to laid back on his bed.

Supposing they were still alive in another four weeks, what would happen if they didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why they hadn't come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let them go?

The room was growing dark. Exhausted, mind spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry fell into uneasy sleep.

He dreamed that he was on show in a zoo, with a card reading "Under-age Wizard" attached to his cage. People goggled through the bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. He saw Dobby's face in the crowd and shouted out, asking to be let out so he could help his brother but Dobby called, "Harry Potter is safe there, sir!" and vanished. Then the Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at him.

"Stop it," Harry muttered, as the rattling pounded in his sore head. "Leave me alone … cut it out … I'm trying to sleep …"

He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shinning through the bars on the window. And someone _was_ goggling through the bars at him: a freckled-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.

Ron Weasley was outside Harry and Jay's window.

:)


	20. 2:3: The Burrow

* * *

Well, I got bored and I can't sleep, so here you go, the next chapter in my story. Hope you like it and please review. Peace out.

**– CHAPTER THREE –**

**The Burrow**

"_Ron!_" breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, I need your help – what the –?"

Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in mid-air. Grinning at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder twins brothers.

"Alright, Harry?"

"What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why did you send that threatening letter about not sending you guys any letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles…"

"It wasn't us,' said Harry. "And how does he know?"

"He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You _know_ we're not supposed to do spells outside school –"

"Bit rich coming from you," said Harry, staring at the floating car.

"Oh, this doesn't count. We're only borrowing this, its Dad's we didn't enchant it. Hey where's Jay?" said Ron looking around the room.

"Hey freckles," said Jay, getting out of bed to stand next to Harry.

"Jay!" said Harry horrified. "You should be in bed and resting!"

"I'm fine," said Jay, now starting to get a bit annoyed.

"What's wrong with you?" said Ron

"He's got this big cut on his abdomen!"

"What cut?" said Ron.

"It's a long story," said Harry. "Look can you tell someone that Jay's in serious trouble and he needs help straight away!"

"It's not that bad! It's a tiny little scratch."

"We've come to take you home with us," said Ron looking worried at Jay.

"But you can't use magic –"

"We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head towards the front seats. "You're forgetting who I've got with me."

"Tie that round the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.

"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said Harry, as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

"Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back."

Harry and Jay moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig and Delvtorm's cages. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air – Harry and Jay ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedroom.

When Ron had untied the rope from the bars and dropped them on Aunt Petunia's lovely neat flowerbeds, Fred reversed as close as possible to the window.

"Ok you two, get in and let's go," said Ron.

"But all our Hogwarts stuff … our wands … my broomstick …"

"Where is it?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs but I can't get out of this room –"

"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry."

Fred and George climbed carefully through the window into Harry's room. George took out an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow.

"I learnt how to do it," said Jay. "That's we got Hedwig and Deilvtorm out of their cages."

There was a small click and the door swung open.

"So – we'll get your trunks – you anything else you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George.

"Watch out for the bottom stair, it creaks," Harry whispered back, as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

Harry and Jay dashed around the room, collecting their things together and passing them out of the window to Ron.

Once they were sure they had gotten everything from their room. Harry and Jay went to help Fred and George heave their trunks up the stairs. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough.

At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through the brother's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the driver's seat and Harry and George pushed the trunks into the boot.

Uncle Vernon coughed again.

"Ok, let's go Harry."

"Hold on, I've forgotten Hedwig and Deilvtorm's cages."

Harry tore back across the room but he tripped over the end of his bed and has he fell, he tried to grab hold of the cages to stop himself falling but they could hold his weight and they all came down with a thundering crash.

"THOSE BOYS!"

Harry limped back across the room with the cages as the landing light came on. He passed the cages to Ron and Jay, who was already in the car, and was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door – and it crashed open.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.

Jay, Ron, Fred and George seized Harry's arm and pulled as hard as they could.

"Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "They're getting away! THEY'RE GETTING AWAY!"

"I've got you, Harry!" said Ron holding on tightly to Harry.

"Let go of me!" said Harry pulling with all his might to get out of Uncle Vernon's grip.

"Oh no, boy! You, your brother and those bloody pigeons aren't going anywhere!"

"We don't have the owls with us," said Harry.

Uncle Vernon looked at the empty birds cages, "Why you little –"

"Drive!" shouted Ron.

Fred put it into gear and shot straight out of there. Uncle Vernon, who still was holding on to Harry, got pulled out of the window and landed in the flowerbed, narrowly missing the bars off Harry and Jay's window.

Harry couldn't believe it – he was free. He wound down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftop of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon was waving his fist up at Harry and Jay from the flowerbed and Aunt Petunia and Dudley were hanging, dumbstruck, out of the window.

"See you next summer!" Harry yelled.

Jay and the Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat next to Jay.

"So what happened to you guys?" asked Ron.

Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry, the fiasco of the violet pudding and Jay getting his cut. Everyone sat in silence after the story finished.

"Lets have a look at his cut," said George finally.

"It's not that bad, honestly," said Jay.

"Just show us," said Fred.

Jay gave a sigh and pulled up his shirt to show the cut on his abdomen, the Weasleys gasped. Around the cut looked to be very thick veins pulsing with dark crimson blood.

"That looks like blood poisoning," said Fred, horrified.

"What was it three days ago? I'm surprised you can still walk," said Ron.

"It looks worst than it feels," said Jay lowering his shirt.

"That house-elf sounds fishy though," said Fred.

"Definitely dodgy," agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip; he started banging his head against the wall."

He saw Fred and George look at each other.

"What, you think he was lying to me?" said Harry.

"Well," said Fred, "put it this way – house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their masters' permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes,' said Harry, Jay and Ron together, instantly.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning round. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son."

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry. "Why?"

"I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You Know Who."

"And when You Know Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung – Dad reckons he was right in You Know Who's inner circle."

Harry had heard these rumours about the Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful and sensitive boy.

"I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf …" said Harry.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich," said Fred.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that, you wouldn't catch one in our house …"

Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. How had Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously?

"It's good that we came and got you," said Ron. "Mum'll be able to clean up that cut with magic so it doesn't get any worst."

"Good, I'm sick of this one" – Jay nodded his head at Harry – "worrying about me all the time."

"I was getting really worried about you two when you didn't answer any of my letters," said Ron. "I thought it was Errol's fault at first –"

"Who's Errol?"

"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes –"

"Who?"

"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made a prefect," said Fred from the front.

"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed him."

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George, frowning. "And he _has_ been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room … I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a Prefect badge … You're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing at the compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel.

"So, does your Dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, guessing the answer.

"Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."

"What does your Dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"

"He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

"The _what_?"

"It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was nightmare – Dad was working overtime for weeks."

"What happened?"

"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic, it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office, and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts to cover it up …"

"But your Dad … this car …"

Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's mad about everything to do with Muggles, our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself straight under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windscreen. "We'll be there in ten minutes … just as well, it's getting light …"

A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.

Fred brought the car lower and Harry and Jay saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St Catchpole …"

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.

"Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard and Harry and Jay looked out for the first time at Ron's house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigsty, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it was held up by magic (which, Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read "The Burrow". Round the front door laid a jumble of wellington boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," said Ron.

"It's brilliant," said Harry and Jay happily, thinking of Privet Drive.

They got out of the car.

"Ok, Harry, Ron," said Fred, "you two support Jay into the kitchen and say he has been hurt. Mum will be too worried and too glad to worry about _how_ they got here. Jay, you're going to have to act like that cut hurts."

"Right," said Jay letting Harry and Ron support his weight.

They had barely taken two steps, however, when Ron stopped dead. He had gone a nasty greenish colour, his eyes fixed on the house. The other four looked up too.

Mrs Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a sabre-toothed tiger.

"_Ah_," said Fred.

"Oh dear," said George.

Mrs Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next (not noticing that Harry and Ron where supporting Jay). She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs Weasley in a deadly whisper.

"No, but Jay –"

All three of Mrs Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

"_Beds empty! No note! Car gone … could have crashed … out of my mind with worry … did you care? … never, as long as I've lived … you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy …"_

"But Jay, he's hurt –"

"What?" said Mrs Weasley, anger vanishing in an instant. Her eyes fell on Jay, supported by Harry and Ron. "Oh my goodness, what happened?"

"It's a long story. We think he has blood poisoning," said Fred poking Jay in the back so he looked like he was in more pain.

"Quickly, quickly get him into the house," said Mrs Weasley.

Harry and Ron carried Jay into the house. Mrs Weasley hurried them over to the couch and they laid him down.

"There is a cut on his abdomen," said Harry.

Mrs Weasley had a look at the cut.

"Ron, will you get me a bowl of hot water and a cloth."

Ron hurried out of the room as Mrs Weasley took out her wand and did some spellwork over Jay's wound and tapping him with the end of her wand.

"It's not –" started Jay but Fred cut him off.

"He's in so much pain."

"It's lucky we got there when we did," said George.

Mrs Weasley turned George. "Don't think this is going to get you out of trouble! You could have _died_, you could have been _seen_, you could have lost you father his _job_!" she took a deep breath. "You'll be fine Jay. Come into the kitchen for some food then you can go upstairs for some rest."

Jay jumped off the couch and followed Mrs Weasley into the kitchen. It was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. Jay lent back his seat looking around the room, while Harry, who had never been in a wizard house before, sat down on the edge of his seat.

The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like "Time to make tea", "Time to feed the chickens" and "You're late". Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like _Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking _and_ One Minute Feasts – It's Magic!_ And unless Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up next, was "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warkbeck".

Mrs Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly; she kept throwing her sons dirty looks and then worried ones at Harry and Jay as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know _what _you were thinking of," and "if Jay didn't get the right treatment …"

"I don't blame _you_, dear," she assured Harry and Jay, tipping eight or nine sausages onto their plates. "Arthur and I have been worried about you two, too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back again by Friday. But it might have been too late …" she looked at Jay kindly as she dropped about six fried eggs to his plate "but flying a car," she said snapping back, "anyone could have seen you –"

She flicked her wand casually at the washing-up in the sink, which began to clean itself, clinking gentle in the background.

"It was _cloudy_, Mum!" said Fred.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs Weasley snapped.

"They were starving them, Mum. And in Jay's condition –" said George.

"And you!" said Mrs Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry and Jay's bread and buttering it for them.

At that moment, there was a diversion in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

"Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry. "My sister. She's been talking about you all summer."

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," grinned Fred, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all five plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.

"Blimey, I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and –"

"You will not," snapped Mrs Weasley. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me, they're getting completely out of hand again."

"Oh, Mum –"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can go up to bed, dear," she added to Harry and Jay. "You have had a rough couple of days."

"Well, I'm not that tied," said Harry. "And I've never seen a de-gnoming before."

"That's very sweet dear but it's very dull work," said Mrs Weasley kindly, "but I'm sorry Jay, dear, I want you to rest until the cut heals properly.

Jay went to argue but he caught Ron, Fred and George shaking his head viciously.

"Now let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject," said Mrs Weasley pulling a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden."

Harry looked at the cover of Mrs Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words:_ Gilderoy Lockhart's Guile to Household Pests_. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them all. Mrs Weasley beamed down at him.

"Oh, he is marvelous," she said, "he sure knows his household pests, it's a wonderful book …"

"Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "Alright, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woes betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry behind them. The garden was large and, in Harry's eyes, exactly what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it – there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting – but there were gnarled trees all around the wall, plants Harry had never seen before, spilling from every flowerbed and a big green pond full of frogs.

"Muggles have garden gnomes too, you know," Harry told Ron as they crossed the lawn.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush. "Like fat little Father Christmases with fishing rods …"

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered and Ron straightened up. "_This_ is a gnome," he said grimly.

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome.

It was certainly nothing like Father Christmas. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, baldhead exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it outside down.

"This is what you do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them – you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnome holes."

He let go of the gnome's ankles: it flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off until –

"Wow, Harry – that must've have been fifty feet …"

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnome's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," said Ron, as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here … Dad's too soft with them, he thinks they're funny …"

Just then, the front door slammed.

"He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"

They hurried through the garden and back into the house.

Mr Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had left was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had me back turned …"

Mr Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighted.

"Find anything, dad?" said Fred eagerly.

"All I got were a few shrinking door-keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness …"

"Why would anyone bother making door-keys shrink?" said Fred.

"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it … Of course, it's very hard to convince anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking – they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face … but the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe –"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Mrs Weasley had appeared in the door way holding her wand like a sword. Mr Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while _really_ he was enchanting it to make it _fly_."

Mr Weasley blinked.

"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if, er, he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth … You see, there's a loophole in the law ... as long as he wasn't _intending_ to fly the car, the fact that the car _could_ fly wouldn't –"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Mrs Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry and Jay arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"

"Harry and Jay?" said Mr Weasley blankly. "Harry and Jay who?"

He looked around, saw Harry and jumped.

"God Lord, is it really Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much about –"

"_Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night!"_ shouted Mrs Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" said Mr Weasley eagerly. "Did it go alright? I-I mean," he faltered, as sparks flew from Mrs Weasley's eyes, "that-that was very wrong, boys – very wrong indeed …"

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry, as Mrs Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, we'll go and see Jay who will be in my bedroom."

They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which zigzagged its way up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap.

"Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy; she never shuts up normally –"

They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying "Ronald's Room".

Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking into a furnace: nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realised that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks and waving energetically.

"Your Quidditch team?" said Harry.

"The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black Cs and a speeding cannonball. "Ninth in the league."

Ron's school spell books were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics which all seemed to feature _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frogspawn on the window-still, next to his fat grey rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

Jay was sitting on one of the set up beds twiddling his thumbs.

"Saw you de-groming the garden," he said nodding to the window. "Looked like fun."

Harry stepped over a pack of self-shuffling playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasley' hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost nervously, as though waiting for his opinion.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning …"

But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the best house I've ever been in."

Ron's ears went pink.


	21. 2:4: At Flourish and Blotts

Sorry about the lateness guys, I kinda deleted the story by accident, so I had to search the whole computer for until I found it, and then I had exams so yeah, kinda got distracted, sorry :(

– CHAPTER FOUR –At Flourish and Blotts

Life at The Burrow was as different as possible from life in Privet Drive. The Dursleys like everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and unexpected. Harry got a shock the first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it shouted, _"tuck your shirt in, scruffy!"_ the ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet and small explosions from Fred and George's bedroom were considered perfectly normal. What Harry found most unusual about life at Ron's, however, wasn't the talking mirror or the clanking ghoul: it was the fact that everybody there seemed to like him.

Mrs Weasley fussed over the state of his socks and tried to force him to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr Weasley liked Harry to sit next to him at the dinner table so that he could bombard him with questions about life with Muggles, asking him to explain how things like plugs and the postal service worked.

After a week at The Burrow, Mrs Weasley finally gave into Jay's nagging and was allowed to eat with the rest of them. Mrs Weasley didn't want to have Jay around all that noise and other things that might stop him fully recovering. So finally, Harry, Jay and Ron went down to breakfast together and they found Mr and Mrs Weasley and Ginny already sitting at the kitchen table. The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face glowing like the setting sun. Pretending he hadn't noticed this, Harry sat down and took the toast Mrs Weasley offered him.

"Letters from school," said Mr Weasley, passing Harry, Jay and Ron identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink. "Dumbledore already knows you two are here – doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two've got them, too," he added, as Fred and George ambled in, still in their pyjamas.

For a few minutes there was silence as they all read their letters. Harry's told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's Cross-station on September the second. There was also a list of the new books he'd need for the coming year.

Second year students will require:

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ by Miranda Goshawk

_Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Travels with Trolls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Wandering with Werewolves_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at Harry's.

"You've been told to get all Lockhart's books too!" he said. "The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan – bet it's a witch."

At this point, Fred caught his mother's eye and quickly busied himself with the marmalade.

"That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive …"

"Well, we'll manage," said Mrs Weasley, but she looked worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things second-hand."

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked Ginny.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately no one saw this except Harry, because just then Ron's elder brother Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his knitted tank top.

"Morning, all," said Percy briskly. "Lovely day."

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a molting grey feather duster – at least that's was what Harry thought it was, until he saw that it was breathing.

"Errol!" said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy. "Hey! Where is Hermione's answer? I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys'"

Just then a handsome eagle owl flew though the window and landed on Jay's shoulder clutching a letter.

"Well I got a letter from Hermione," said Jay, taking the letter from Deilvtorm. He bit Jay on the ear and flew out the window. "Ow," said Jay rubbing his ear. "Must have gone to the Dursley's first … Oh, well." Jay read Hermione's letter out loud.

"_Dear Jay and Harry,_

_I would like you to know that I have been sending you letters all summer and you two are the ones that have been not sending them back! We have all been very worried about you two and I hope that when this gets to you, you are at Ron's and Ron, if you're there, I hope you didn't do anything illegal to get them out of the Dursley's house because that would get Harry and Jay into trouble, as well. Send me a letter back as soon as you can, and don't use Errol, because I think another delivery might finish him off._

_I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course_ –" ("How _can_ she be?" said Ron in horror. "We're on holiday!") "– _and we're going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diagon Alley?_

_Let me know what's happening as soon as you can, love from Hermione."_

"Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your thing then, too," said Mrs Weasley, starting to clear the table. "What're you all up to today?"

Harry, Jay, Ron, Fred and George were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasley owned. It was surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that they could practice Quidditch there, as long as they didn't fly too high. They couldn't use real Quidditch balls, which would have been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over to the village; instead they threw apples for each other to catch. They took it in turns to ride Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom; Ron's old Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies.

Ten minutes later they were marching up the hill, broomsticks over their shoulders. They were held up by Mrs Weasley fussing over Jay's health. They had asked Percy if he wanted to join them, but he had said he was busy. Harry had only seen Percy at mealtimes so far; he stayed shut in his room the rest of the time.

"Wish I knew what he was up to," said Fred, frowning. "He's not himself. His exam results came the day before you two did; twelve O.W.L.s and he hardly gloated at all."

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explained, seeing Harry and Jay's puzzled looks. "Bill got twelve too. If we're not careful, we'll have another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame."

Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. He and the next brother, Charlie, had already left Hogwarts. Harry and Jay and never met either of them, but knew that Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and Bill was in Egypt working for the wizard's bank, Gringotts.

"Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year," said George after a while. "Five sets of Lockhart book! And Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything …"

Harry and Jay said nothing. They felt a bit awkward. Stored in an underground vault at Gringotts in London was a small fortune that their parents had left them. Of course, it was only in the wizarding world that they had money; you couldn't use Galleons, Sickles and Knuts in Muggle shops. They had never mentioned their Gringotts bank account to the Dursleys; they didn't think their horror of anything connected with magic would stretch to a large pile of gold.

*

Mrs Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats and Mrs Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

"We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to buy some more today … ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"

And she offered him the flowerpot.

Harry stared at them all watching him.

"W-what am I supposed to do?" he stammered.

"They've never traveled by Floo powder," said Ron suddenly. "Sorry guys, I forgot."

"Never?" said Mr Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy you school things last year?"

"We went on the Underground –"

"Really?" said Mr Weasley eagerly. "Were there _escapators_? How exactly –"

"Not _now_, Arthur," said Mrs Weasley. "Floo powder's a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before –"

"They'll be alright, Mum," said Fred. "Watch us first."

He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire and threw the power into the flames.

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Ally!" and vanished.

"You must speak clearly, dear," Mrs Weasley told Harry and Jay, as George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. "And mind you get out at the right grate …"

"The right what?" said Harry nervously, as the fire roared and whipped George out of sight too.

"Well, there are a lot of wizard fires to choose from, but as long as you've spoken clearly –"

"They'll be fine, Molly, don't fuss," said Mr Weasley, helping himself to Floo powder too.

"But dear, if they got lost, how would we ever explain to their aunt and uncle?"

"They wouldn't mind," Harry reassured her.

"They'd be quite pleased, actually," said Jay.

"Dudley would think it was a brilliant joke if we got lost up a chimney, don't worry about them."

"Well … alright … you go after Arthur," said Mrs Weasley. "Now, when you get into the fire, say where you're going –"

"And keep your elbows tucked in,' Ron advised.

"And your eyes shut," said Mrs Weasley. "The soot –"

"Don't fidget," said Ron. "Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace –"

"But don't panic and get out too early, wait until you see Fred and George."

Harry looked dumb founded.

"May-maybe Jay should go first," said Harry nudging Jay forward.

"Is it something about fires, Harry?" said Jay as he took some Floo powder. "He did this last term. Made me go though the black flames first."

He stepped into the emerald flames and shouted, "Diagon Alley!"

"Ok, come on Harry."

Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames and steeped forward; the fire felt like a warm breeze; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash.

"D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughed.

It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant plughole. He seemed to be spinning very fast … the roaring in his ears was deafening … he tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him feel sick … something hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in tightly, still pinning and spinning … now it felt as though cold hands were slapping his face … squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond … his bacon sandwiches were churning inside him … he closed his eyes again wishing it would stop, and then – he fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt his glasses shatter.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he got gingerly to his feet, holding his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was quite alone, but _where_ he was, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop – but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks leered down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty window was definitely not Diagon Alley.

The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently towards the door, but before he'd gotten halfway towards it, two people appeared on the other of the glass – and one of them was the very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in soot and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy

Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black cabinet to his left; he shot inside it and pulled the doors so he had a small crack to peer through. Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop.

The man who followed could only be his father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold grey eyes. Mr Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."

Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the house team?" said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's _famous_ … famous for having a stupid _scar_ on his forehead …"

Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.

"… everyone thinks he's so _smart_, wonderful _Potter_ with his _scar_ and his _broomstick_ –"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," said Mr Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son, "and I would remind you that it is not – prudent – to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear – ah, Mr Borgin."

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.

"Mr Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said Mr Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted – and young Master Malfoy, too – charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today and very reasonably priced –"

"I'm not buying today, Mr Borgin, but selling," said Mr Malfoy.

"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr Borgin's face.

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry in conducting more raids," said Mr Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr Borgin to read. "I have a few – ah – items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call …"

Mr Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"

Mr Malfoy's lip curled.

"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumours about a new Muggle Protection Act – no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it –"

Harry felt a hot surge of anger.

"– and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it _appear_ –"

"I understand, sir, of course," said Mr Borgin. "Let me see …"

"Can I have _that_?" interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr Borgin, abandoning Mr Malfoy's list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," said Mr Malfoy coldly and Mr Borgin said quickly, "no offence, sir, no offence meant –"

"Though if his school marks don't pick up," said Mr Malfoy, more still coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for."

"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favourites, that Jay Potter and Hermione Granger –"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a boy who grew up around Muggles and a girl of no wizarding family beat you in every exam," snapped Mr Malfoy.

"Ha!" said Harry under his breath, please to see Draco looking both abashed and angry.

"It's the same all over," said Mr Borgin, in his oily voice. "Wizards blood is counting for less every-where –"

"Not with me," said Mr Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," said Mr Borgin, with a deep bow.

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," said Mr Malfoy shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today."

They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale. He paused to examine a long coil of hangman's rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals; _Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed – Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggles Owners to Date._

Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He walked forward … he stretched out his hand for the handle …

"Done," said Mr Malfoy at the counter. "Come Draco!"

Harry wiped his forehead on his sleeve as Draco turned away.

"Good day to you, Mr Borgin, I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."

The moment the door had closed, Mr Borgin dropped his oily manner.

"Good day yourself, _Mister_ Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your _manor_ …"

Muttering darkly, Mr Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could, slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases and out of the shop door.

Clutching his broken glasses to his face he stared around. He had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads, and two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his glasses on straight and hoping against hope he'd be able to find a way out of there.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry had never heard of such place. He supposed he hadn't spoken clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to do.

"Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump.

An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry backed away.

"I'm fine, thanks," he said "I'm just –"

"HARRY! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"

Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding towards them, beetle-black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard.

"Hagrid!" Harry croaked in relief. "I was lost … Floo powder …"

Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance: Gringotts bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon Alley.

"Yer a mess!" said Hagrid gruffly; brushing soot off Harry so forcefully he nearly knocked him into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno – dodgy place, Harry – don' want no one ter see yeh down there –"

"I realised _that_," said Harry, ducking as Hagrid made to brush him off again. "I told you, I was lost – what were you doing down there, anyway?"

"I was – I was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," growled Hagrid. "They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yeh not on yeh own?"

"Jay and I are staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," Harry explained. "I've got to go find them …"

They set off together down the street.

"How come yeh never wrote back ter me?" said Hagrid, as Harry jogged alongside him (he had to take three steps to every stride of Hagrid's enormous boots). Harry explained all about Dobby and the Dursleys.

"Ruddy Muggles," growled Hagrid. "If I'd've known –"

"Harry! Harry! Over here!"

Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.

"What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid … Oh, it's _wonderful_ to see you two again … Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?"

"As soon as I've found the Weasleys and my brother," said Harry.

"Yeh won't have long ter wait," grinned Hagrid.

Harry and Hermione looked around; sprinting up the crowded street were Jay, Ron, Fred, George, Percy and Mr Weasley.

"Harry," Mr Weasley panted. "We _hoped_ you'd only gone one grate too far …" He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic – she's coming now."

"Where did you come out?" Ron asked.

"Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly.

"_Brilliant_!" said Fred and George together.

"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.

"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid.

Mrs Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other.

"Oh, Harry – oh, my dear – you could have been anywhere –"

Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn't managed to beat away. Mr Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave them a tap of his wand and returned them, good as new.

"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs Weasley ("Knockturn Alley! If you hadn't found him, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Jay, Ron and Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps. "Malfoy and his father."

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" said Mr Weasley sharply behind them.

"No, he was selling."

"So he's worried," said Mr Weasley with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something …"

"You be careful, Arthur," said Mrs Weasley sharply, as they were ushered into the bank by a bowing goblin at the door. "That family's trouble, don't go biting off more than you can chew."

"So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.

"But you're Muggles!' said Mr Weasley delightedly. "We must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly, look!" He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr Granger's hand.

"Meet you back here," Jay said to Hermione, as the Weasleys and the Potters were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train-tracks through the bank's underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the break-neck journey down to the Weasley' vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened. Here was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one old Galleon. Mrs Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his and Jay's vault. He and Jay tried to block the contents from view as they hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag.

"Hey Harry," Jay whispered in Harry's ear. "You know how Alicia Spinnet is going to quit the Quidditch team … Well I was wondering if you could let me get a broom to take her spot on the team?"

Harry looked up at Jay in shock.

"I just get so bored up in the common room with nothing to do, I just need something to do with my time ... studying is so boring."

Harry smiled and nodded his head.

"You're the best." And he put a bit more gold into his bag.

Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mr Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your school books," said Mrs Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouted at the twins' retreating backs.

Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. The bag of gold, silver and bronze jangling cheerfully in Harry's pocket was clamouring to be spent, so he bought four large strawberry and peanut butter ice-cream which they slurped happily as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the window of "Quality Quidditch Supplies" while Jay brought his new broom, another Nimbus Two Thousand. Then Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on "Dr Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks", and in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, wonky brass scales and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called _Prefects who Gained Power._

"_A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers_," Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds _fascinating_ …"

"Go away," Percy snapped.

"Course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned out … he wants to be Minister of Magic …" Ron told Harry, Jay and Hermione in an undertone, as they left Percy to it.

An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretching across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART  
will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGIC ME  
today 12:30 – 4:30pm

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"

"Only because our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has an obsession with him," said Jay.

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs Weasley age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please ladies, calmly … don't push, there … mind the books, now …"

Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione squeezed inside. A long queue wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of _Break with a Banshee_, and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr and Mrs Granger.

"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute …"

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his on face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue, which exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the _Daily Prophet_."

"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron – and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It _can't_ be Harry Potter?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly. Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry's face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

"Nice big smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."

When he finally let go of Harry's hand, Harry could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his side.

"Ladies and gentleman," he said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!

"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge –" the crowd applauded again, "– he had _no idea_," Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to end of his nose, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magic Me_. He and his school fellows will, in fact, be getting the real, magical me. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.

"You can have these," Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. "I'll buy my own –"

"Bet you loved that, didn't you Potter?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognising. He straightened up and found himself face to face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.

"_Famous_ Harry Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page.

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" said Ginny. It was the first time; she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy.

"Look Potter, you've got yourself a _girlfriend_?" drawled Malfoy. Ginny went scarlet as Jay, Ron and Hermione fought their way over, all of them clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" said Jay, looking at Malfoy then liking nothing better than to punch him in the nose. "Don't you have to be somewhere torturing Muggles?"

"I'd watch your tongue Potter," said Malfoy, "or it will have to come off …"

"Jay!" said Hermione, pulling Jay away from Malfoy, who had inched to his wand.

Malfoy turned to Ron, "What are _you_ doing in a shop, Weasley? I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for that lot."

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron too and started towards Malfoy, but Harry grabbed the back of his jacket.

A hand appeared on Malfoy's shoulder, "Now, Now Draco, play nicely," it was Mr Malfoy. "Mr Potter, Lucius Malfoy. We meet at last …" he said shaking Harry's hand. "Forgive me," he said pulling Harry close to him and pulling the hair away from his scar. "Your scar is legend, of course, so is the wizard who gave it too you."

"Voldemort killed my parents," said Harry coldly. "He was nothing more than a murderer."

"You must be very brave to mention his name, or very foolish."

"Fear of the name only increases the fear of thing itself," said Hermione.

"And you must be Miss Granger …" Draco nodded his head "… oh, yes Draco has told me all about you _and_ your parents …" he glances over to the Grangers who were talking to Mr Weasley. "…Muggles aren't they?

"Let's see," he said turning to Ron. "Red hair, vacant expressions, you must be a Weasley."

"Ron!" said Mr Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's mad in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

"Lucius," said Mr Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr Malfoy. "All those raids … I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amidst the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_.

"Obviously not," he said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces is to the name of wizards, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," said Mr Malfoy, his pale eyes straying back over to Mr and Mrs Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley … and I thought your family could sink no lower –"

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr Weasley had thrown himself at Mr Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spell books came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred and George; Mrs Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!" the crowd stampeded backwards, knocking more shelves over; "Gentleman, please – please!" cried the assistant and then, louder than all, "Break it up, there, gents, break it up –"

Hagrid was wading towards them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy apart. Mr Weasley had a cut lip and Mr Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_. He was still holding Ginny's old transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you –"

Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Malfoy and swept from the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that. No Malfoy's worth listenin' ter. Bad blood, that's what it is. Come on now – let's get outta here."

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs Weasley beside herself with fury.

"A _fine_ example to set to your children … _brawling_ in public … _what_ Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought …"

"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the _Daily Prophet_ if he'd be able to work the fight into his report – said it was all publicity."

But it was a subdued group who headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, Jay, the Weasleys and all their shopping would be traveling back to The Burrow using Floo powder. They said goodbye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side. Mr Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs Weasley's face.

Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo powder. It definitely wasn't his favourite way to travel.


	22. 2:5: Whomping Willow

Hey everyone, hope you all enjoyed your Christmas and New Years; I know I did, got a new laptop, yay :P, anyway ... to kick off the new year, i'll give you the next chapter in my book, hope you all enjoy.

– CHAPTER FIVE –

The Whomping Willow

The end of the summer holidays came too quickly for Harry and Jay's liking. They were looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but their month at The Burrow had been the happiest of their life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when they thought of the Dursleys and the sort of welcome they could expect next time they turned up in Privet Drive.

On their last evening, Mrs Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner, which included all of Harry and Jay's favourite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.

It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at the crack of dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills, people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands, and Mr Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.

Harry couldn't see how nine people, seven large trunks, three owls and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. He had reckoned, of course, without the special features, which Mr Weasley had added.

"Not a word to Molly," he whispered to Harry and Jay as he opened the boot and showed them how it had been magically expanded so that the trunks fitted in easily.

When at last they were all in the car, Mrs Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Jay, Ron, Fred, George and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, "Muggles _do_ know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" she and Ginny got into the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park beach. "I mean you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"

Mr Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard, Harry turning back for a last look at the house. He barely had time to wonder when he'd see it again when they were back: George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick. They had almost reached the motorway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary. By the time she clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high.

Mr Weasley glanced at his watch and then at his wife.

"Molly, dear –"

"_No_ Arthur."

"No one would see. This little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed – that'd get us up in the air – then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser…"

"I said _no_, Arthur, not in broad daylight."

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and they all hurried into the station.

Harry and Jay had caught the Hogwarts Express the previous year. The tricky bit was getting onto platform nine and three quarters, which wasn't visible to the Muggle eye. What you had to do was walk through the solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn't hurt, but it had to be done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed you vanishing.

"Percy first" said Mrs Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they only had five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr Weasley went next, Fred and George followed.

"I'll take Ginny and you three come right after us," Mrs Weasley told Harry, Jay and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.

"Let's go together, we've only got a minute," Ron said to Harry and Jay.

Harry made sure that Hedwig's cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier. He felt perfectly confident; this wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as using Floo powder. The three of them bent low over the handles of their trolleys and walked purposefully towards the barrier, gathering speed with every step they took. A few feet away from it, they broke into a run –

CRASH.

The three trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backwards. Ron's trunk fell off with a loud thump, Jay fell up over the handlebars, Harry was knocked off his feet and Hedwig's cage bounced onto the shinny floor and she rolled away, shrieking indignantly. People all around them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "What in blazes d'you think you're doing?"

"Lost control of the trolley," Harry gasped, clutching his ribs as he tried to help Jay out of the trolleys. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was causing such a scene that there was a lot of muttering about cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd.

"Why can't we get through?" Harry hissed to Jay and Ron.

"I dunno –"

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them.

"We're going to miss the train," Ron whispered. "I don't understand. Why has the gateway's sealed itself …"

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ten seconds … nine seconds …"

He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier, and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid.

Three seconds … two seconds … one second …

"And it's outer here," said Jay depressingly.

"The train's left," said Ron, sounding stunned. "What if Mum and Dad can't get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?"

Harry and Jay hollowed in laugher. "The Dursleys haven't given us pocket money for about six years."

Ron pressed his ear to the cold barrier.

"Can't hear a thing," he said tensely. "What're we going to do? I don't know how long it'll take Mum and Dad to get back to us."

They looked around. People were still watching them, mainly because of Hedwig's continuing screeches.

"I think we'd better go and wait by the car," said Harry. "We're attracting too much atten –"

"Harry!" said Ron, his eyes gleaming. "The car!"

"What about it?"

"We can fly the car to Hogwarts!"

"But I thought –"

"We're stuck, right? And we've got to get to school, haven't we? And even under-age wizards are allowed to use magic if it's a real emergency, section nineteen or something of the Restriction of Thingy …"

Harry and Jay's feeling of panic turned suddenly to excitement.

"Can you fly?"

"No problem," said Ron, wheeling his trolley around to face the exit. "C'mon, let's go, if we hurry we'll be able to follow the Hogwarts Express."

And they marched off through the crowd of curious Muggles, out of the station and back into the side road where the old Ford Anglia was parked.

Ron unlocked the cavernous boot with a series of taps from his wand. They heaved their trunks back in, put Hedwig and Deilvtorm on the back seat and got into the front.

"Check no one's watching," said Ron, starting the ignition with another tap of his wand. Harry, who was next to the window, stuck his head out: traffic was rumbling along the main road ahead, but their street was empty.

"Ok," he said.

Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car around them vanished – and so did they. Harry could feel the seat vibrating beneath him, hear the engine, feel his hands on his knees and his glasses on his nose, but for all he could see, he had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in a dingy street full of parked cars.

"This is so cool!" said Jay's voice from his right.

"Let's go," said Ron's voice.

The ground and the dirty building on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose; in seconds, the whole of London, lay, smoky and glittering, below them.

Then there was a popping noise and the car, Harry, Jay and Ron reappeared.

"Uh oh," said Ron, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster. "It's faulty –"

The three of them pummeled it. The car vanished. Then it flickered back again.

"Hold on!" Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator; they shot straight into the low woolly clouds and everything turned dull and foggy.

"Now what?" said Harry, blinking at the solid mass of cloud pressing in on them from all sides.

"We need to see the train to know what direction to go in," said Jay, trying to see down.

"Dip back down again – quickly –"

They dropped back beneath the clouds and twisted around in their seats, squinting at the ground –

"I can see it!" Harry yelled. "Right ahead – there!"

The Hogwarts was streaking along below them like a scarlet snake.

"Due north," said Ron, checking the compass on the dashboard. "Ok, we'll just have to check on it every half an hour or so. Hold on …" And they shot up through the clouds. A minute later, they burst out into a blaze of sunlight.

It was a different world. The wheels of the car skimmed the sea of fluffy clouds, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding white sun.

"All we've got to worry about now are airplanes," said Ron.

They looked at each other and started to laugh; for a long time, they couldn't stop.

It was as though they had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This, thought Harry, was surely the only way to travel: past swirls and turrets of snowy clouds, in a car full of hot, bright sunlight, with a fat pack of toffees in the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing Fred and George's jealous faces when they landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in front of Hogwarts castle.

They made regular checks on the train as they flew further and further north, each dip beneath the clouds showing them a different view. London was soon far behind them, replaced by neat green fields which gave way in turn to wide, purplish moors, villages with tiny toy churches and a great city alive with cars like multi-coloured ants.

Several uneventful hours later, however, Harry had to admit that some of the fun was wearing off. The toffees had made them extremely thirsty and they had nothing to drink. He, Jay and Ron had pulled off their jumpers, but Harry's T-shirt was sticking to the back of his seat and his glasses kept sliding down to the end of his sweaty nose. He had stopped noticing the fantastic cloud shapes now, and was thinking longingly of the train miles below, where you could buy ice-cold pumpkin juice from the trolley pushed by a plump witch. _Why_ hadn't they been able to get onto platform nine and three quarters?

"Can't be much further, can it?" croaked Ron, hours later still, as the sun started to sink into their floor of clouds, staining it a deep pink. "Ready for another check on the train?"

It was still right below them, winding its way past a snowcapped mountain. It was much darker beneath the canopy of the clouds.

Ron put his foot on the accelerator and drove them upwards again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine.

Harry, Jay and Ron exchanged nervous glances.

"It's probably just tired," said Ron. "It's never been this far before …"

And the three of them pretended not to notice the whining growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars were blossoming in the blackness. Harry and Jay pulled their jumpers back on, trying to ignore the way the windscreen wipers were now waving feebly, as though in protest.

"Not far," said Ron, more to the car than to Harry or Jay, "not far now," and he patted the dashboard nervously.

When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew.

"_There_!" Harry shouted, making everyone else in the car jump. "Straight ahead!"

Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle.

But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed.

"Come on," Ron said cajolingly, giving the steering wheel a little shakes, "nearly there, come on –"

The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the bonnet. Harry found himself gripping the edge of his seat very hard as they flew towards the lake.

The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of his window, Harry saw the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below. Ron's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The car wobbled again.

"Come _on_," Ron muttered.

They were over the lake … the castle was right ahead … Ron put his foot down.

There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died completely.

"Uh oh," said Ron into the silence.

The nose of the car dropped. They were falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall.

"Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," cried Jay putting his hands up in the air.

"_Nooooo_!" Ron yelled, swinging the steering wheel around; they missed the dark stonewall by inches as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch and then out over the black lawn, losing height all the time.

Ron let go of the steering wheel completely and pulled his wand out of his back pocket.

"STOP! STOP!" he yelled, whacking the dashboard and the windscreen, but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up towards them …

"MIND THAT TREE!" Harry bellowed, lunging for the for the steering wheel, but too late –

CRUNCH.

With an ear-splitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing from under the crumpled bonnet; Hedwig and Deilvtorm were shrieking in terror, a golf-ball sized lump was throbbing on Harry's head where he had hit the windscreen.

"That was so fun!" cried Jay. "Let's do that again!"

Ron let out a low, despairing groan.

"Or not."

"Are you OK?" Harry said urgently to Ron.

"My wand," said Ron, in a shaky voice. "Look at my wand."

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.

"Be lucky it wasn't your neck," said Jay

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they'd be able to mend it up at the school, but he never even got started. At that very moment, something hit his side of the car with the force of a charging bull, sending him lurching sideways into Jay, just as an equally heavy blow hit the roof.

"What's happen –?"

Ron gasped, staring through the windscreen, and Harry looked around just in time to see a branch as think as a python smash into it. The tree they had hit was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double, and its gnarled boughs were pummeling every inch of the car it could reach.

"Aaargh!" said Ron, as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his door; the windscreen was now trembling under a hail of blows from knuckle-like twigs and a branch as think as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof, which seemed to be caving in –

"Run for it!" Ron shouted, throwing his full weight against his door, but the next second he had been knocked backwards into Jay's lap by a vicious upper cut from another branch.

"Get off me!" said Jay shoving Ron out of his lap.

"We're done for!" he moaned, as the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating – the engine had re-started.

"_Reverse_!" Harry yelled, and the car shot backwards. The tree was still trying to hit them; they could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped itself up, lashing out at them as they sped out of reach.

"That," panted Ron, "was close. Well done, car."

The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two smart clunks, the doors flew open and Harry felt his seat tip sideways: next thing he knew he was sprawled on the damp ground next to Jay. Loud thuds told them that the car was ejecting their luggage from the boot. Hedwig and Deilvtorm's cages flew through the air and burst open; they rose out of them with a loud, angry screech and sped off towards the castle without a backwards look. Then, dented, scratched and steaming, the car rumbled off into the darkness, its rear lights blazing angrily.

"Come back!" Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand. "Dad'll kill me!"

But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust.

"Can you _believe_ our luck?" said Ron miserably, bending down to pick up Scabbers the rat. "Of all the trees we could've hit, we had to hit the one that hits back."

He glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly.

"Come on," said Harry wearily, "we'd better get up to the school …"

It wasn't at all the triumphant arrival they had pictured. Stiff, cold and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began dragging them up the grassy slope, towards the great oak front doors.

"I think the feast's already started," said Ron, dropping his trunk at the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. "Hey, you two come and look – it's the Sorting!"

Harry and Jay hurried over and together, they peered in at the Great Hall.

Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long, crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling which always mirrored the sky outside sparkled with stars.

Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Harry saw a long line of scared-looking first years filing into the Hall. Ginny was amongst them, easily visible because of her vivid Weasley hair. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with her hair in a tight bun, was placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers.

Every year, this aged old hat, patched, frayed and dirty, sorted new students into the four Hogwarts houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin). Harry well remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in his ear. For a few horrible seconds he had feared that the hat was going to put him in Slytherin, the house which had turned out more dark witches and wizards than any other – but he ended up in Gryffindor, along with Jay, Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys. Last term, Harry, Jay and Ron had help Gryffindor win the House Championship, beating Slytherin for the first time in seven years.

A very small, mousey-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Harry's eyes wandered past him to where Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, sat watching the Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, Harry saw Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid, huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.

"Hang on …" Harry muttered to Jay and Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table … Where's Snape?"

Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favourite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape's least favourite student. Cruel, sarcastic and disliked by everybody except the students from his own house (Slytherin), Snape taught Potions.

"Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully.

"Maybe he died!" said Jay.

"Maybe he's _left_," said Harry, "because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job _again_!"

"Or he might have been _sacked_!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him –"

"Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you three didn't arrive on the school train."

Harry spun around. There, his black robes rippling in cold breeze stood Severus Snape. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose and greasy, shoulder-length black hair, and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Harry; he, Jay and Ron were in very deep trouble.

"I'd go with that one," said Jay.

"Follow me," said Snape.

Not daring even to look at each other, Harry, Jay and Ron followed Snape up the steps into the vast, echoing hall, which was lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell of food was wafting from the Great Hall, but Snape led them away from the warmth and light, down a narrow stone staircase that lead into the dungeons.

"In!" he said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing.

They entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars, in which floated all manner of revolting things Harry didn't want to know the name of at the moment. The fireplace was dark and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.

"So," he said softly, "the train isn't good enough for the famous Harry Potter, his smart-aleck brother and the faithful sidekick Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a _bang_, did we, boys?"

"No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it –"

"Silence!" said Snape coldly. "What have you done with the car?"

Ron gulped. This wasn't the first time Snape had given Harry the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, he understood, as Snape unrolled today's issue of the _Evening Prophet_.

"You were seen," he hissed, showing them the headline: FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. He began to read aloud. "Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower … at noon in Norfolk, Mrs Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing … Mr Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported it to the police … six or seven Muggles in all. I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?" he said, looking up at Ron and smiling still more nastily. "Dear, dear … his own son …"

Harry felt as though he'd just been walloped in the stomach by one of the mad tree's larger branches. If anyone found out Mr Weasley had bewitched the car … he hadn't thought of that …

"I noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable amount of damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow," Snape went on.

"That tree did more damage to us than we –" Ron blurted out.

"_Silence!_" snapped Snape again. "Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go fetch the people who _do_ have that happy power. You will wait here."

Harry, Jay and Ron stared at each other, white-faced. Harry didn't feel hungry any more. He felt extremely sick. He tried not to look at a large, slimy something suspended in green liquid on a shelf behind Snape's desk. If Snape had gone to fetch Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house, they were hardly any better off. She might be fairer than Snape, but she was still extremely strict.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and sure enough it was Professor McGonagall who accompanied him. Harry had seen Professor McGonagall angry on several occasions, but either he had forgotten just how thin her mouth could go, or he had never seen her this angry before. She raised her wand the moment she entered. Harry and Ron both flinched, but she merely pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames, suddenly erupted. Jay sniggered at them.

"Sit," she said, and the three of them backed into chairs by fire.

"Explain," she said, her glasses glinting ominously.

Ron launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let them through.

"… so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get on the train."

"Why didn't you send us a letter by owl? I believe _you_ two have an owl?" Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry and Jay.

Harry gaped at her.

"That would have been the – umm – obvious thing to have done," said Jay. "So that's why we didn't do that option. To predictable."

Professor McGonagall nostrils flared.

"We didn't think –" said Harry.

"That," said Professor McGonagall, "is obvious."

There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier than ever, opened it. There stood the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.

Harry's whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at them and Harry suddenly found himself wishing he, Jay and Ron were still being beaten up by the Whomping Willow.

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, "Please explain why you did this."

It would have been better if he had shouted. Harry hated the disappointment in his voice. For some reason, he was unable to look Dumbledore in the eyes, and spoke instead to his knees. He told Dumbledore everything except that Mr Weasley owned the bewitched car, making it sound as though he, Jay and Ron had happened to find a flying car parked outside the station. He knew Dumbledore would see through this at once, but Dumbledore asked no questions about the car. When Harry had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.

"We'll go and get our stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" barked Professor McGonagall.

"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" said Ron.

Harry looked quickly at Dumbledore.

"Not today, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress upon the three of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both of your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you."

Snape looked as though Christmas had been cancelled. He cleared his throat and said, "Professor Dumbledore, these boys have flouted the Decree for Restriction of Under-age Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree … surely acts of this nature …"

"It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these boys' punishment, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "They are in her House and are therefore her responsibility." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "I must go back to the feast, Minerva; I've got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there's a delicious-looking custard tart I want to sample."

Snape shot a look of pure venom at Harry, Jay and Ron as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office, leaving them alone with Professor McGonagall, who was still eyeing them like a wrathful eagle.

"You'd better get along to the hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding."

"Not much," said Ron, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve. "Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted –"

"The Sorting Ceremony is over," said Professor McGonagall. "Your sister is also in Gryffindor."

"Oh, good," said Ron.

"And speaking of Gryffindor –" Professor McGonagall said sharply, but Harry cut in: "Professor, when we took the car, term hadn't started, so – so Gryffindor shouldn't really have points taken from it, should it?" he finished, watching anxiously.

Professor McGonagall gave him a piercing look, but he was sure she had almost smiled. Her mouth looked less thin, anyway.

"I will not take any points from Gryffindor," she said, and Harry's heart lightened considerably. "But you will be getting a detention."

It was better than Harry had expected. As for Dumbledore's writing to the Dursleys, that was nothing. Harry knew perfectly well they'd just be disappointed that the Whomping Willow hadn't squashed him and Jay flat.

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape's desk. A large plate of sandwiches, three silver goblets and a jug of iced pumpkin juice appeared with a pop.

"You will eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory," she said. "I must also return to the feast.

When the door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle.

"I thought we'd had it," he said, grabbing a sandwich.

"So did I," said Harry, taking one too.

"I don't think Dumbledore's going to expel the famous Harry Potter or the smartest kid in the school," said Jay though a mouth full of food. "And he couldn't expel you without expelling us."

Harry and Ron laughed.

"Can you believe our luck, though?" said Ron thickly through a mouthful of chicken and ham. "Fred and George must've flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw _them_." He swallowed and took another huge bite. "_Why_ couldn't we get through the barrier?"

Harry shrugged. "We'll have to watch our step from now on, though," he said, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice. "Wish we could've gone up to the feast …"

"She didn't want us showing off," said Ron sagely. "Doesn't want people to think it's clever, arriving by flying car."

"And what do you think will be waiting for us up in the common room?" said Jay. "Lots and lots of people congratulating us."

And like always, Jay was right. Once they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could (the plate kept re-filling itself) they rose and left the office, treading the familiar path to Gryffindor tower. The castle was quiet; it seemed that the feast was over. They walked past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armour, and they climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last they reached the passage where the secret entrance to Gryffindor Tower was hidden, behind an oil painting of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said, as they approached.

"Er –" said Harry.

They didn't know the new year's password, not having met a Gryffindor prefect yet, but help came almost immediately; they heard hurrying feet behind them and turned to see Hermione dashing towards them.

"_There_ you are! Where have you _been_? I heard the most _ridiculous_ rumour – someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying _car_."

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her.

"Tell me you didn't fly a car to Hogwarts," said Hermione.

"Ok, we didn't fly a car to Hogwarts," said Jay with a cheeky smile.

"You're lying to me."

"I'm only doing what you told me to do."

"If I told you to jump of a bridge, would you do it?"

"Hermione, I would do _anything_ for you," said Jay, putting his hand on Hermione's shoulder.

Harry and Ron roared with laugher.

"Get – your – hand – off – my – shoulder," breathed Hermione.

"Once you have giving us the password."

"It's "wattlebird"," said Hermione taking deep breathes and Jay removed his hand. "Now about this car –"

But her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the fat lady swung open and there was sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor house was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive. . Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry, Jay and Ron inside, leaving Hermione to scramble in after them.

"Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years!'

"Good on you," said a fifth year Harry had never spoken to; someone was patting him on the back as though he'd just won a marathon. Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, "Why couldn't you've called us back, eh?" Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly. Jay was just soaking it all up, but Harry could see one person who didn't look happy at all. Percy was visible over the heads of some excited first years, and he seemed to be trying to get near enough to start telling them off. Harry nudged Jay and Ron in the ribs and nodded in Percy's direction. Ron got the point at once.

"Got to get upstairs – bit tired," he said, and the two of them dragged Jay away from a group of breathless girls and made their way towards the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.

"Night," Harry called back to Hermione, who was wearing a scowl just like Percy. It was made worse with Jay blowing her a kiss goodnight.

They managed to get to the other side of the common room; still having their backs slapped, and gained the peace of the staircase. They hurried up it, right to the top, and at last reached the door of their old dormitory, which now had a sign on it saying "second years". They entered the familiar, circular room, with its six four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. Their trunks had been brought up for them and placed at the ends of their beds.

"I told ya there would be a parta for us," said Jay dancing up and down.

Ron grinned guiltily at Harry.

"I knew I shouldn't've enjoyed that or anything, but –"

The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second year Gryffindor boys, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom.

"_Unbelievable_!" beamed Seamus.

"Cool," said Dean.

"Amazing," said Neville, awestruck.

Harry couldn't help it. He grinned, too.


	23. 2:6: Gilderoy Lockhart

Hey everyone, thought i'd give you a late xams present :P, enjoy and please review

CHAPTER SIX –

Gilderoy Lockhart

The next day, however, Harry barley grinned once. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy grey). Harry, Jay and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione, who had her copy of _Voyages with Vampires_, propped open against a milk jug. There was slight stiffness in the way she said "Morning" which told Harry that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully. Neville was a round and accident-pone boy with the worst memory of anyone Harry had ever met.

"Post's due any minute – I think Gran's sending me a few things I forgot."

Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy parcel bounces off Neville's head and a second later, something large and grey fell into Hermione's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

"_Errol_!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.

"Oh no –" Ron gasped.

"It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

"It's not that – It's _that_."

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Harry and Jay, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"She's – she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly.

"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville, in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My Gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and –" he gulped, "it was horrible."

Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.

"What's a Howler?" he said.

But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.

"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll be over in a few minutes …"

Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's beak and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Harry knew why. He thought for a moment it _had_ exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

" … STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE …"

Mrs Weasley yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoes deafeningly off the stonewalls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

" … A LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOU FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU, HARRY AND JAY COULD HAVE DIED …"

Harry and Jay exchanged guilty looks. They had been wondering when their names were going to crop up. Harry tired very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the voice that was making his eardrums throb.

" … ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED, YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN ENQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harry, Jay and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed and gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed _Voyages with Vampires_ and looked down at the top of Ron's head.

"Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you –"

"Don't tell me; I deserved it," snapped Ron.

Harry pushed his porridge away. His insides were burning with guilt. Mr Weasley was facing an enquiry at work. After all Mr and Mrs Weasley had done for him and Jay over the summer …

But he had no time to dwell on this; Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, had made his over to Harry.

"Harry, as you probably know, Alicia Spinnet has left the Quidditch team," he said in a low whisper to Harry, "the thing is I don't want a lot of people to know this and if I hold a try out people will know –"

"Jay is good on a broom," said Harry. "Ask him to go for a private tryout."

"Jay? Your brother?" said Wood pointing at Jay. "How good are you at throwing a Quaffle?"

"The best in Gryffindor," said Jay.

"Ok then, meet me out on the pitch at lunch time," said Wood walking away with a smiling.

"Do you want to join the Quidditch team?" said Hermione in shock.

"Are you kidding," said Ron. "Jay was _brilliant_ when we were flying around my house over the summer."

Jay smiled at Hermione's opened mouth expression but as Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out timetables, their conversation was cut short. Harry took his, and saw that they had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing: Hermione seemed to think they had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.

As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, Harry spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails that would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.

"Oh, hello there!" Lockhart called, beaming around at the assembled students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout, the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels …"

"Greenhouse Three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not her usual cheerful self.

There was murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in Greenhouse One before – Greenhouse Three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertiliser, mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Jay, Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out.

"Harry! I've been wanting a word – you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

"Harry," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing.

"When I heard – well, of course, it was entirely my fault. Could have kicked myself."

Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was about to say so when Lockhart went on, "Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, _Harry_."

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking.

"Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" said Lockhart. "Gave you the _bug_. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and you couldn't wait to do it again."

"Oh – no, Professor, see –"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. "I _understand_. Natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste – and I blame myself for given you that, because it was bound to go to your head – but see here, young man, you can't start _flying cars_ to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, alright? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's alright for him; he's an internationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He Who Must Not Be Named!" He glanced at the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. "I know, I know, it's not quite as good as winning _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have – but it's a _start_, Harry, it's a _start_."

He gave Harry a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood stunned for a few seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to be in the greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside.

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different coloured earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place between Ron and Hermione, she said, "We'll be re-potting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrakes?"

To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. "It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again.

"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly.

"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in colour, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who didn't have the slightest idea what Hermione meant by the "cry" of the Mandrake.

"Everyone takes a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are _completely_ covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs up. Right – earmuffs _on_."

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put a pink fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it; burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tuftes leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs up and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedling, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly, as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. "However, they _will_ knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

"Five to a tray – there is a large supply of pots here – compost in the sacks over there – and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula, its teething."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke. Making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly haired Hufflepuff boy, who Harry knew by sight, but had never spoken to.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter … and you're Jay Potter – I see the girls fall head-over-heels when you walk past …" (He shook Jay's hand) "Hermione Granger – always answers the teachers questions right …" (Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too) "and Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?"

Ron didn't smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind.

"That Lockhart's something isn't he?" said Justin happily, as they began filling their plants pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone box by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and – zap – just _fantastic_.

"My name was down for Eton, you know, I can't tell you how glad I am I come here instead. Of course, mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family …"

After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrake didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into its pot.

By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching and covered in earth. They traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today's was especially difficult. Everything Harry had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand.

Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed stick tape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in think grey smoke, which smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.

Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung sponge. Everyone filed out of the classroom except him and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

"Stupid … useless … thing …"

"Write home for another one," Harry suggested, as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

"Oh yeah, and get another Howler back," said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. "_It's your own fault your wand got snapped_ –"

They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved by Hermione showing them a handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration. Jay had thrown his out before running off to the Quidditch pitch with his new broom.

"What've we got the afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the subject.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.

"_Why_," demanded Ron, seizing her timetable, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"

Hermione snatched the timetable back, flushing furiously.

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in _Voyages with Vampires_ again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch and how Jay was going for several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking up, he saw the very small, mousey-haired boy he'd seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night, staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

"Alright, Harry? I'm – I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think – would it be all right if – can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You Know Who tired to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead," (his eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll _move_." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "Its brilliant here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you –" he looked imploringly at Harry, "– maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

"_Signed photos_? You're giving out _signed photos_, Potter?"

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Everyone queue up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"No, I'm not," said Harry angrily, his fists clenching. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

"_Jealous_?" said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout any more, half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.

"Draco!" cried a voice from the courtyard. "What are you doing talking to my brother?"

Jay was power walking across the courtyard.

"If you knew what was best for you, you would stay away," he said getting out wand.

"Is that a threat?" said Malfoy but his smile faded a bit. Everyone knew about Jay's spell work.

"It is," Jay said simply.

Crabbe and Goyle stepped in front Malfoy and started rubbing their conker-like knuckles in a menacing way.

Jay laughed.

"You think _they_ can protect you? They don't even know how to use a wand."

Crabbe lunged at Jay. Jay stepped to the right and Crabbe went crashing past, falling over his own feet.

Goyle went to do the same thing, but Hermione shut _Voyages with Vampires_ with a snap and said, "Look out!'

"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding towards them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?" He completely over looked Crabbe lying on the ground.

Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"

Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, Harry saw Malfoy slide back into the crowd glaring at Jay.

"Come on then, Mr Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. "A double portrait, can't say fairer than that, and we'll _both_ sign it for you."

Colin fumbled with his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of the afternoon classes.

"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry, who wished he knew a good vanishing spell, still clasped to his side.

"A word to the wise, Harry," said Lockhart paternally as they entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey – if he was photographing me, too, your schoolfellows won't think you're setting yourself up so much …"

Deaf to Harry's stammers, Lockhart swept him down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.

"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible – looks a tad bighead, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but –" he gave a little chortle, "I don't think you're quite there yet."

They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let Harry go at last. Harry yanked his robes straight and headed for a seat at the very back of the class, where he busied himself with piling all seven of Lockhart's book in front of him, so that he could avoid looking at the real thing

The rest of the class came clattering in and Jay, Ron and Hermione sat down next to Harry.

"You could've fried an egg on your face," said Ron. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

"Shut up," snapped Harry. The last thing he needed was for Lockhart to hear the phrase "Harry Potter fan club".

"So how did it go with Wood?" Harry asked Jay trying to change the subject.

"You are looking at your new team mate," he said sitting himself up straight.

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of _Travels with Trolls_ and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, third class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League and five times winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon banshee by _smiling_ at her!"

He waited for them to laugh.

"Oh, wait!" said Jay sitting back up, "this is the part where we all start laughing, right. Ok, hold on."

He took a deep breath then started up a real high, fake laugh.

"Oh, you're good Gilderoy … A real funny one …" said Jay between laughs.

"Shut up," hissed Hermione hitting Jay in the arm.

Jay tried to suppress a _real_ laugh.

"Yes, thank you for that." Lockhart cleared his throat. "Now I see you've all bought a complete set of books –"

"Shock horror," said Jay loudly. "You only _told_ us to buy them."

"Yes," said Lockhart. "Well the books will help you to pass this course."

"On What? How to curl your hair?" said Jay.

The boys in the classes started to snigger. The girls were torn between the two males they thought were God's gift to the earth.

"On how to tackle the Darks Arts," Lockhart tried to correct.

"So where's our teacher then?" said Jay, looking around the room. "Because you can't teach us a subject that you've never done before."

The boys were now banging their fists on the table in a silent laughter.

"I thought we'd start today with a little quiz," said Lockhart, raising his voice a little and looking any where but Jay. "Nothing to worry about – just to check how well you've – um – read the books, how much you've taken in …"

When he had handed out the test papers (he hesitated at Jay) he returned to the front of class and said, "You have thirty minutes. You can start now."

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

_1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?_

_2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

_3. What, in you opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

_54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected in the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"I think that was the first ever test I failed," said Jay stretching back.

"But you remember everything you read," said Ron.

"It would help if I've actually _read_ the books.'

"You haven't read the books?" said Hermione horror.

"I'll get round to it. I just have better things to do than read books that have less facts than a girly magazine."

"How can you even challenge him if you haven't even read his books?" said Hermione outraged.

"Never enter a battle you can't win," said Jay, putting his feet up on the desk.

Hermione looked aghast at Jay.

"Tut, tut," said Lockhart after he had flicked through most of the papers. "Hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in the _Year with a Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Weekend with a Werewolf_ more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky!"

He gave them another roguish wink. He seemed to have gotten his confidence back. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Jay, now, wasn't listening; his eyes were closed and he seemed to be mouthing the words of a song and tapping his foot up and down. Hermione's mind was still on Jay. She was so distracted in giving Jay disapproving glances, that she didn't hear Lockhart say her name.

"… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions – good girl! In fact –" said Lockhart, flipping her paper over, "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione jumped half out of her sit when her name was called. She looked up to see Lockhart smiling at her. She blushed and slowly raised her trembling hand.

"Good!" Lockhart said nervously as he saw who she was sitting next too, "quite good. Take five points for Gryffindor. And so, to business …"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard kind. You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in the room. Knowing only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

In spited of himself, Harry learned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat. The only person who seemed not to be paying attention was Jay who was still mouthing the words to a random song.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class, minus one, held it s breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "_Freshly caught Cornish pixies_."

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter, which even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" he smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not – they're not very – _dangerous_, are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing; well it made Jay look up and smile at them. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and pulling bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, upended the waste bin, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks, Neville was swinging from the candelabra in the ceiling and Jay was sitting mouth wide open at Lockhart.

"Come on now, round them up, round them up, they're only pixies …" Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, "_Peskipikis Pesternomi_!"

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized Lockhart's wand and threw it out of the window too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the candelabra gave way.

"Wait!" said Jay suddenly standing up and knocking his chair back. "I know what the course is now. How to destroy the classroom. Or is it how to cower under a desk after you've said all this great, brave, brilliant things about yourself?"

"I – I was just – just looking for my – my wand," Lockhart said get up from under the desk.

"The pixies have it, which you should know because you saw them take it out of your hand or are you dumber then you look? Which would be a very, very, _very_ bad thing."

"I – I –"

Jay raised his wand, Lockhart cowered but Jay pointed it at the pixies and cried, "_Accio pixies_", the pixies flew back into the cage and Jay closed the door on them just as the bell rang.

There was a mad rush towards the exit. Once everyone had left, there was only Harry, Jay, Ron, Hermione and Lockhart left.

"Yes, well, very well done Mr Potter," said Lockhart edging towards the door. "Five points for – for Gryffindor for that nice Movement Spell …"

"It was Summering Spell," Jay said coldly

"Er … yes –" he quickly opened the door and hurried out of the room.

"Can you believe him?" said Ron looking stunned at where Lockhart had just left.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione wrenching her bag from under the table.

"_Hands on_?" said Harry picking up his ripped bag.

"He didn't have a clue _what_ he was doing," said Jay repairing Harry's bag with his wand.

"Well," said Hermione opening up the classroom door violently. "If you'd actually read his books, you would have realised that he was really brave and that he has saved heaps of people's lives. He was probably just nervous today because it was his first lesson and you just go and make it worst for him by saying all those bad things about him! Good one Jay!"

She slammed the door shut behind her.

"I think she's mad with me," said Jay.


	24. 2:7: Mudbloods and Murmurs

Hey fans, hope you liked the last two chapters, here the next. Plz review, cya next time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mudbloods and Murmurs

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down the corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorised Harry's timetable. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hullo, Colin," back, how ever exasperated Harry sounded when he said it.

Hedwig and Deilvtorm were still angry with Harry and Jay about the disastrous car journey and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Jay, Ron and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood.

"Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily.

"Quidditch practice!" said Wood. "Come on!'

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink and gold sky. Now he was awake, he couldn't understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

"Oliver," Harry croaked, "it's the crake of dawn."

"I know," said a voice from the other side of him. "It's the best time of day."

"Good choice with your brother, by the way, Harry," said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year and at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a mad enthusiasm. "Training in the morning is part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom and let's go," said Wood heartily. "None of the other teams have started training yet, we're going to be first off the mark this year …"

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.

"Good man," said Wood. "Meet you on the pitch in fifteen minutes."

When Harry had found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his clock for warmth, he scribbled a note to Ron explaining were he and Jay had gone and they went down the spiral staircase together into the common room, their Nimbus Two Thousands over their shoulders. They had just reached the porthole when there was a clatter behind them and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

"I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I've got here! I've had it developed; I wanted to show you –"

Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.

A moving, black and white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognised as his own. He was pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched. Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

"Will you sign it?" said Colin eagerly.

Harry heard Jay laugh behind his back.

"No," he said flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, we're in a hurry – Quidditch practice."

He and Jay climbed through the portrait hole.

"Oh wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!"

Colin scrambled through the hole after them.

"I didn't know you got a puppy, Harry," said Jay.

"It'll be really boring," Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement.

"You were the youngest house player in a hundred years, weren't you Harry? Weren't you?" said Colin, trotting alongside him. "You must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Is that your broom? Is that the best one there is?"

"I wish it was a puppy," Jay whispered to Harry. "They don't talk as much. He's more like a talkative shadow. Glad he's not mine."

"I don't really understand Quidditch," said Colin breathlessly. "Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly round trying to knock people off their brooms?"

"Yes," said Harry heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch. "They're called Bludgers. There are two beaters on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters."

"And what are the other balls for?" Colin asked, tripping down a couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry.

"Well, the Quaffle – That's the biggish red one – it's the one that scores. Three Chasers – Jay is one of them on the Gryffindor side – on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goalposts at the end of the pitch – they're three long poles with hoops on the end."

"And the fourth ball –"

"– is the Golden Snitch," said Harry, "and it's very small, very fast and very difficult to catch. But that's what the Seeker's got to do, because a game of Quidditch doesn't end until the Snitch has been caught. And whichever team's Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra hundred and fifty points."

"And you're Gryffindor Seeker, aren't you?" said Colin in awe.

"Yes," said Harry, as they left the castle and started across the dew drenched grass. "And there's the Keeper, too. They guard the goalposts. That's it really."

But Colin didn't stop questioning Harry all the way down the sloping lawns to the Quidditch pitch, and Harry only shook him off when he and Jay reached the changing rooms. Colin called after him in a piping voice, "I'll go and get a good seat, Harry!" and hurried off to the stands.

"And we'll be waiting for you," said Jay in fake cheerful voice. "What a nice quiet boy. You can really just sit back and watch the sunrise with him."

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-hair, next to Jay's fellow Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind them.

"There you are, Jay, what kept you?" said Wood briskly grabbing Jay and pulling him to the front. "Now as you may or may not know Alicia Spinnet quit the team so she can have more time with her studies," Wood said to the team. "No need to fear, Jay Potter is here. He had a great tryout on Monday and I hope you all welcome him on to the team."

Harry clapped his hands loudly but his enthusiasm wasn't in the others, they clapped about once and went back to daydreaming.

"Well there you have it," said Wood, letting Jay go and he sat down next to Harry looking ready to go. "Now, I want a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the pitch, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference …"

Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch pitch, on which were drawn many lines, arrows and crosses in different coloured inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley's head drooped right on to Angelina Johnson's shoulder and he began to snore.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. Harry sank into a stupor as Wood droned on and on.

"So," said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful fantasy about what he could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle, "is that clear? Any questions?"

"I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"

Wood wasn't pleased.

"Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them all, "we should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We were easily the best team. But unfortunately, owing to circumstances beyond out control …"

Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. He had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.

Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last defeat was clearly still torturing him.

"So this year, we train harder than ever before … Ok, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the changing rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team followed.

They had been in the changing rooms so long that the sun was up properly now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the pitched, he saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.

"Haven't even started,' said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

"Man, I didn't sign up for this," said Jay, also licking his lips.

They mounted their Nimbus Two Thousands and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air whipped Harry's face, waking him far more effectively than Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch pitch. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Jay, Fred and George

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred, as they hurtled around the corner.

Harry looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, and taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"Who's that?" said Fred.

"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him to Jay, who was trying to get a piece of toast off Ron.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air towards them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."

"He's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly.

"And Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.

"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.

"Because they're here in person," said George pointing.

Several people in green robes were walking onto the pitch, broomsticks in their hands.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the pitch for today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot towards the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Jay, Fred and George followed.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team – who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"But I booked the pitch!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint, "but I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. _I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch pitch owning to the need to train their Seeker._"

"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint, as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words "Nimbus Two Thousand and One" gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carefully, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps," he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who both had Cleansweep Fives, "sweeps the board with them."

"You may have a new Seeker, but we have a new Chaser," said Wood. "And seeing as _I_ booked it first, Gryffindor gets to play on it."

"You don't have a new Chaser," said Flint looking up the row of six scarlet players.

"Think again," said Jay coming out from behind.

"Potter?" said Malfoy glaring at Jay.

"So if you just buzz of now, it would be great," said Wood. "We need to train _our_ new team member."

"What's happening?" said Ron who had come over with Hermione to see what was going on. "Why aren't you playing?" And what's _he_ doing here?"

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bit for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in," said Hermione sharply. "_They _got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Harry knew at once that Malfoy has said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Hermione had to hold Jay from grabbing his wand, Katie shrieked, "_How dare you!_" and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulling out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards on to the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth on to his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging on to his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's it's nearest," said Harry to Jay and Hermione, who nodded bravely and he and Jay pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the pitch. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dripped down his front.

"Ohh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. He and Jay supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds towards the edge of the forest. Hermione was dancing along side of them.

"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione, as the gamekeeper's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute … almost there …"

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.

"Quick, behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush, Jay closely on his tail. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have copy of my book – I'm surprised you haven't already got on. I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, goodbye!" and he strode away towards the castle.

Harry waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. They knocked urgently.

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me – come in, come in – thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again."

Harry and Jay supported Ron over the threshold, into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, plonking a large copper basin in front of him. "Get 'em all up Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand …"

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang's ears.

"Givin' me advice on getting' kelpies out of a well," growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some Banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticise a Hogwarts teacher and Harry looked at him in surprise and Jay lent back in his chair smiling and nodding his head in agreement. Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously though he was the best man for the job –"

"He was the _on'y_ man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchy into his basin. "An' I mean the _on'y_ one. Getting' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron, "who was he tryin' ter curse?"

"Malfoy called Hermione something. It must've been really bad, because everyone went mad," said Harry.

"It was bad," said Jay looking sadly over at Hermione. "He called her a "Mudblood", Hagrid –"

Hagrid looked outraged.

"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course …"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of –" said Ron clapping his hand to his mouth and dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their way up.

"You see," Jay continued, "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born – someone with non-magic parents. Now the Malfoy's are part of a group of wizards who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood."

"But that's not true," said Harry.

"And it doesn't make a difference," said Ron, coming back up, wiping his mouth. "Look at Neville Longbottom – he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up."

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can't do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with shaking hands. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd died out."

He retched and ducked out of sight again.

"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," said Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yeh wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."

Harry would have pointed out that trouble didn't come much worse than having slugs pouring out of your mouth, but he couldn't; Hagrid's treacle toffee had cemented his jaws together.

"Harry," said Hagrid suddenly, as though struck by a sudden thought, "gotta bone ter pick with yeh, I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

Jay laughed so hard that his chair tipped over backwards, "I'm fine," he said quickly getting up, "I meant to do that."

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart.

"I have _not_ been giving out signed photos," he said hotly. "If Lockhart is still saying that I am –"

But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending his face first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn't need to. Yeh more famous than him without tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.

"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle toffee, Ron?" he added, as Ron re-appeared.

"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid, as Harry, Jay and Hermione finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

"Getting' on well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast … should be big enough by then."

"What've you been feeding them?" said Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.

"Well, I've bin givin' them – you know – a bit o' help."

Harry noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Harry had reason to believe before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, he had the strong impression that Hagrid's old school wand was concealed inside it. Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but Harry had never found out why – any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on them."

"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else to my house." He winked at Harry. "If yeh ask me, _she_ wouldn' say no ter a signed –"

"Oh shut up," said Harry. Ron snorted with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs.

"Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime and as Harry and Jay had only had one bit of treacle fudge each since dawn, they were keen to go back to school to eat. They said goodbye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two, very small slugs.

They had barely set foot in the cool Entrance Hall when a voice rang out. "There you are, Potters, Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking towards them, looking stern. "You will be doing your detention the evening."

"What are we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

"_You_ will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch," said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley – elbow grease."

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school.

"And you, Potter," said Professor McGonagall turning to Harry, "will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail,"

"On no – can't I go and do the trophy room too?" said Harry desperately.

"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly."

"And me?" said Jay preparing for the worst.

"You will be with me."

"You?" said Jay on shock.

"Yes me, have you got a problem with that?" she said glaring down on him.

Jay shook his head.

"Eight o'clock sharp, you three."

Harry and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom. Jay came in with smug look on his face and Hermione was wearing a _well-you-did-break-school-rules_ sort of expression. Harry didn't fancy his shepherd's pie as much as he'd thought. Both he and Ron felt they'd got the worse deal.

"Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle clean."

"I'd swap any time," said Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail … he'll be a nightmare …"

"Yeah these detentions are going to be hell," said Jay. "I'd hate do be doing a detention with Filch or Lockhart. That would be the worst of the worst. Glad I'm going to be Professor McGonagall."

This comment was the reason why Jay got a face full of shepherd's pie that day.

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight, and Harry was dragging his feet along the second floor corridor to Lockhart's office. He gritted his teeth and knocked.

The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him.

"Ah, here's the scallywag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in."

Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He had even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.

"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat. "The first one is to Gladys Gudgeon; bless her – huge fan of mine."

The minutes snailed by. Harry let Lockhart's voice wash over him, occasionally saying, "Mmm" and "Right" and "yeah". Now and then he caught a phrases like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that."

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry moved his aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley's address. It must be nearly time to leave, Harry thought miserably; please let it be nearly time …

And then he heard something – something quite apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart's prattle about his fans.

It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breath-taking, ice-cold venom.

"_Come … come to me … let me rip you … let me tear you … let me kill you …_"

Harry gave a huge jump and a large lilac blot appeared on Veronica Smethley's street.

"_What?_" he said loudly.

"I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What voice?"

"That – that voice that said – didn't you hear it?"

Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment.

"What _are_ you talking Harry? Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy? Great Scott – look at the time! We've been here nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it – the time's flown, hasn't it?"

Harry didn't answer. He was straining his ears to hear the voice again, but there was no sound now except for Lockhart telling him he mustn't expect a treat like this every time he got detention. Feeling dazed, Harry left.

It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty. Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Ron wasn't back but Jay was asleep on his bed. Harry roughly woke him.

"What? What's wrong Harry? Have you hurt yourself?" said Jay.

"No it's just –"

The dormitory door flew open and in came Ron, nursing his right arm and bringing a strong smell of polish into the darkened room.

"My muscles have all seized up," he groaned, sinking on his bed. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to shift the slime … How was McGonagall?"

"Made me mark all these year one papers, you know your sisters quite smart, one of the top marks … But what where saying Harry?"

Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean and Seamus, Harry told Jay and Ron exactly what he had heard in Lockhart's office.

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" said Ron, Harry could see him and Jay frowning in the moonlight. "D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it – even someone invisible would've had to open the door."

"Maybe it was a sprit or ghost?" said Jay off hand. "But then you would have seen them …"

"I know," said Harry, lying back in his four-poster and staring at the canopy above him. "I don't get it either."


	25. 2:8: Deathday Party

Happy Australia Day everyone one of my ozzie friends. Hope you are enjoying it and hope you enjoy this new chapter of mine. 'Til next time, please review.

- CHAPTER EIGHT –

The Deathday Party

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the matron, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterwards. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking peaky, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid red hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.

Rain drops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flowerbeds turned into muddy streams and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry and Jay were to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like jets.

As Harry and Jay squelched along the deserted corridor they came across Nearly Headless Nick singing a tune.

"_It was a mistake any wizard could make_

_Who was tired and caught on the hop_

_One piffling error, and then, to my terror,_

_I found myself facing the chop._

_Alas for the eve when I met Lady Grieve_

_A-strolling the park in the dusk!_

_She was of the belief I could straighten her teeth_

_Next moment she'd sprouted a tusk._

_I cried through the night that I'd soon put her right_

_But the process of justice was lax;_

_They'd brought out the block, though they'd mislaid the rock_

_Where they usually sharpened the axe._

_Next morning at dawn, with a face most forlorn,_

_The priest said to try not to cry,_

"_You can come just like that, no, you won't need a hat,"_

_And I knew that my end must be nigh._

_The man in the mask who would have the sad task_

_Of cleaving my head from my neck,_

_Said "Nick, if you please, will you get to your knees,"_

_And I turned to a gibbering wreck._

"_This may sting a bit" said the cack-handed twit_

_As he swung the axe up in the air,_

_But oh the blunt blade! No difference it made,_

_My head was still definitely there._

_The axeman he hacked and he whacked and he thwacked,_

"_Won't be too long", he assured me,_

_But quick it was not, and the bone-headed clot_

_Took forty-five goes 'til he floored me._

_And so I was dead, but my faithful old head_

_It never saw fit to desert me,_

_It still lingers on, that's the end of my song,_

_And now, please applaud, or you'll hurt me."_

Harry and Jay clapped and Nearly Headless Nick turned around in surprise.

"Oh, hello young Potters," said Nearly Headless Nick. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was as pale as smoke and Harry and Jay could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

"Hello Nick," said Harry and Jay.

"You two look troubled," said Nick, folding up a transparent letter he was holding as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

"So do you," said Harry.

"Ah," said Nearly Headless Nick as he waved an elegant hand, "a matter of importance … it's not as though I really wanted to join … thought I'd apply, but apparently I "don't fulfill requirements"."

In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.

"But you wouldn't think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling a letter out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh – yes," said Harry and Jay together, who were obviously supposed to agree.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However …" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously,

"_We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for the member to participate in hunt activities such as Horse Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore_."

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letting away.

"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, you two! Most people would think that's good enough for a beheading, but oh no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So – what's bothering you two? Anything I can do?"

"No," said Harry. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly –"

The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned by a high-pitched mewing from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself giving into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs Norris, the skeletal grey cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.

"You two had better get out here," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood. He's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five; he's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place …"

"Let's go, Harry," said Jay pulling Harry towards the stairs, away from the accusing stare of Mrs Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry and Jay's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for rule-breakers. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

"Filth!" he shouted his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddles that had dripped from Harry and Jay's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potters!"

So Harry and Jay waved a gloomy goodbye to Nearly Headless Nick, and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor.

Harry and Jay had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil-lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.

"Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies … frog brains … rat intestines … I've had enough of it … make an _example_ … where's the form … yes …"

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the inkpot.

"_Name_ … Harry and Jay Potter. _Crime_ …"

"It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry.

"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "_Crime_ … befouling the castle … _suggested sentence_ …"

Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at the brothers who waited with bated breath for their sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! On the ceiling of the office which made the oil lamp rattle.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"

And without a backwards glance at Harry and Jay, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs Norris streaking alongside him.

Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry didn't like Peeves much, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from Harry and Jay.

"Well," said Jay reaching out his hand to the half-completed form, "let's just rip up this form and leave before Filch comes back."

"We'd better wait for him to come back –"

"So he can put us on detention. No thanks. I like to stay _away_ from Filch."

Jay grabbed the form and set it alight with the tip of his wand.

"Ok, let's go."

But Harry wasn't listening. He had just noticed a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front.

"What's that?" said Harry.

Jay picked it up.

"_Kwikspell_," he read out loud, "A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic. Ah, Filch doesn't know how to do magic."

"What?" said Harry grabbing the letter and reading the title. Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

_Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spell? Ever been taunted for your woeful wand work? There is an answer! Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from Kwikspell method!_

_Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:_

"_I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!"_

_Warlock D.J. Prod of Didsbury says:_

"_My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms but one month into fabulous Kwikspell course I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!"_

Jay started to crack up laughing after he read the sheet of paper over Harry's shoulder.

"He's trying to learn magic out of some stupid "get magic quick" schemes."

"What does it mean? He's not a proper wizard?"

"It would explain a flew things but who cares wait till we tell everyone."

"Check this out," said Harry reading on from the introduction. "_Lesson one: Holding Your Wand – some useful tips_ –"

But Harry stopped; he heard shuffling footsteps outside which told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope. Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant.

"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet."

His eyes fell on Harry's guilty face and Jay's smug one and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which Harry realised too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.

Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope and threw it into a drawer.

"Have you – did you read –?" he spluttered.

"No," Harry lied quickly.

Harry saw Jay suppress a laugh.

Filch's knobby hands were twisting together.

"If I thought you'd read my private … not that it's mine … for a friend … be that as it may … however …"

"Yeah sure," said Jay controlling his laughing voice. "A friend."

Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks and the tartan scarf didn't help.

"Just go … and don't breathe a word … not that … how-ever, if you didn't read … go now, I have to write up Peeves' report … go …"

Amazed at their luck, Harry and Jay sped out of the office, up the corridor and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.

"Harry! Jay! Did it work?"

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet, which appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him –"

"You sneaky person," said Jay trying to punch Nearly Headless Nick but he went straight though him.

"Well it worked," said Harry gratefully, "we didn't even get a detention. Thanks Nick!"

They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter.

"I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said.

Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry and Jay walked right through him. They wished they hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower.

"But there _is_ something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry, Jay – would I be asking too much – but no, you wouldn't want –"

"What is it?" said Harry.

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth Deathday," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

"Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this. "Right."

"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an _honour_ if you would attend. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome too, of course – but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry and Jay on tenterhooks.

"No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come –"

"My dear boy! Harry Potter and his brother, at my Deathday Party! And," he hesitated, looking excited, "do you think you could _possibly_ mention to Sir Patrick how _very_ frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Oh – um – sure," said Jay.

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at the boys.

*

"A Deathday Party?" said Hermione keenly, when Harry and Jay had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those – it'll be fascinating!"

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and frumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me …"

Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside, all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster Firework to a Salamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

Harry and Jay were on the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the Salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly around the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the Salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from their minds.

*

By the time Halloween arrived, Harry and Jay were regretting their rash promise to go to the Deathday Party. The rest of the school were happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in there and there were rumours that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment."

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry and Jay bossily. "You two _said_ you'd go to the Deathday party."

So at seven o'clock, Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead towards the dungeons.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles too, though the effect was far from cheerful: these were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be _music_?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully, "welcome, welcome … so please you could come …"

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundred of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

"Oh no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle –"

"Who?" said Harry, as they backtracked quickly.

"She haunts the girls' toilet on the first floor," said Hermione.

"She haunts a _toilet_?" said Ron.

"Yes. It's been out of order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it, it's awful trying to go to the loo with her wailing at –"

"Food!" said Jay suddenly.

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly, but next moment they had stopped in their tracks. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters, cakes, burned charcoal black, were heaped on platters, there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mound and, in the middle, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

_Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington_

_Died 31__st__ October, 1518_

Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste it if you walk though it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavour," said Hermione knowledgably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.

"Who would _want_ to taste something that disgusting?" said Jay playing with the cheese.

"Can we move, I feel sick," said Ron.

They had barely turned around, however when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in mid-air before them.

"Hello, Peeves," said Harry.

Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"Sure," said Jay taking one.

"Well," said Peeves, eyes glowing, "eat it."

Slowly, Jay put the peanut in his mouth and swallowed.

"The fungus really adds to the flavour, not a really good flavour but it's there."

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked disgusted at Jay. Peeves was cracking up laughing.

"Excuse me," said Jay running away and putting his hands to his mouth.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves staring after Jay. "_Rude_ you were about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"

"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her – er, hello, Myrtle."

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

"What?" she said sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione, in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Myrtle sniffed.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you –" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear.

"Just saying – saying – how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.

"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

"No – honestly – didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.

"Oh, yeah …"

"She did …"

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've missed out "spotty"," Peeves hissed in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeons. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts and yelling, "_Spotty! Spotty!_"

"Oh dear," said Hermione sadly.

"I know," said Jay who had just appeared ay Hermione's side. "I wanted the rest of those peanuts."

"You are so gross," said Hermione.

"Well I like you don't I?"

"You're going to make me vomit."

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted towards them through the crowd.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh, yes," they lied.

"Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent … It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra …"

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

"Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging; a large ghost at the front, whose bearded head was under his arm, blowing the horn, leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed) and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"

He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.

"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.

"Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowed howled with laughter).

"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say – look at the fellow –"

"I think," said Harry hurriedly after a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick is very – um – frightening and – er –"

"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!"

"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding towards the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.

"My late lamented, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow …"

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd was turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

Harry was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.

"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back on to the dance floor.

"Let's go," Harry agreed.

They backed towards the door; nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way towards the steps to the Entrance Hall.

And then Harry heard it.

"… _rip … tear … kill_ _…_"

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office.

He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stonewall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

"Harry, what're you –"

"It's that voice again – shut up for a minute –"

"… _soo hungry … for so long _…"

"You can hear voices –"

"Shh," said Harry urgently. "Listen," and Jay, Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.

"… _kill … time to kill_ …"

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away – moving upwards. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upwards? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceiling didn't matter?

"This way," he shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the Entrance Hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween Feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Jay, Ron and Hermione clattering

behind him.

"Harry, what are we –"

"SHH!"

Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainting still, he heard the voice: "_… I smell blood … I SMELL BLOOD!_"

His stomach lurched. "It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring the voices of Jay, Ron and Hermione, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps.

Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Jay, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"_W__hat_ was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything …"

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

"_Look!_"

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached, slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been open. Enemies of the heir, beware," recited Jay.

"It's written in _blood_," said Hermione, horrified.

"What's that thing – hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.

As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped over: there was a large puddle of water on the floor. Jay caught him and they all inched towards the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of them realised what it was at once, and leapt backwards with a splash.

Mrs Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."

"Shouldn't we try and help –" Harry began awkwardly.

"No, Harry," said Jay. "We don't want to be found here. Trust me."

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing in to the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students, pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.


	26. 2:9: The Writing on the Wall

Hey Peoples, got bored, thought i might entertain you guys for a few minutes. Anyway, might not post one for a bit, schools starting back up again :(, but then i might want a distraction from all the work :P. Anyway, plz enjoy and review. cya next time.

- CHAPTER NINE –

The Writing on the Wall

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?" he shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on Harry.

"_You!_" he screeched, "_You!_ You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you I'll –"

"What?"

Jay had his wand pressed up against Filch's back.

"One more threat towards my brother and you will have to quit your job due to injuries–"

"_Jay!_"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In a second, he had swept past Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione and detached Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You too, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger and Mr Jay Potter."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free –"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professor McGonagall and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the picture dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed; Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: it was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her – probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there; I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her …"

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs Norris, his face in his hands. Much as he detested Filch, Harry couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself. If Dumbledore believe Filch, he would be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happened: she continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

" … I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets which cleared the matter up at once …"

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hairnet.

At last Dumbledore straightened up.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs Norris. "But why's she all – all stiff and frozen?"

"She's petrified," said Jay.

All eyes turned to Jay.

"Can you tell me how," said Dumbledore, now studying Jay over his half-moon glasses.

"Well it wasn't a spell; you would have been able to cure her if it was, but apart from that, I have no idea."

"Ask _him_!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tear-stained face to Harry.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advan –"

"Didn't you just hear me? It wasn't a spell," said Jay.

"Then what are you suggesting, Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "That Mrs Norris did it to herself."

"I don't know. Maybe there is a Medusa in the castle?"

"Medusa turns her victims to stone, Jay," said Hermione.

"Mrs Norris might only have seen her reflection."

"Medusa doesn't exist,' said Dumbledore kindly.

"Well then, I don't know what happened –"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found – in my office – he knows I'm a – I'm a –" Filch's face worked horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he finished.

"I never _touched_ Mrs Norris!" Harry said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking him, including all the Lockharts on the wall. "And I don't even know what a Squib _is_."

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"_I_ saw that letter too but are you blaming me?" said Jay.

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Harry's sense of forbidding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.

"Potter and his friends may have been simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted, "but we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"

Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the Deathday party, "… there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there –"

"But why not join the feast afterwards?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.

"Because – because –" Harry said, his heart thumping very fast; something told him it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but he could hear, "because we were tired and want to go to bed," he said.

"Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"No," said Jay. "The peanuts were really nice." But he retched as he thought about the mouldy, soggy peanut.

Snape's nasty smile widened.

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, 'I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was now giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light blue gaze made Harry feel as though he was being X-rayed.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.

Snape looked furious. So did Filch.

"My cat has been petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some _punishment_!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Madam Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times, I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep –"

"We don't want Mrs Norris to _die_," said Jay coldly. "As much as this pains me to say but Mrs Norris would be in much better hands with Snape than you."

There was a very awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione.

They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at his friends' darkened faces.

"D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"

"No," said Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good a sign, even in the wizarding world."

Something in Ron's voice made Harry ask, "You do believe me, don't you?"

"Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But – you must admit it's weird …"

"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? _The Chamber has been Opened_ … what's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once … might've been Bill …"

"And what on earth's a Squib?" said Harry.

To his surprise, Ron stifled a snigger.

"Well – it's not funny really – but as its Filch …" he said. "A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much." Ron gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter."

A clock chimed somewhere.

"Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.

For a few days the school could talk of little but the attack on Mrs Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with "Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover", but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly" and "looking happy".

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs Norris' fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat-lover.

"But you hadn't really got to know Mrs Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her." Ginny's lip trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Ron assured her. "They'll catch the nutter who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to petrify Filch before he's expelled. I'm only joking –" Ron added hastily, as Ginny blanched.

The attack had also had an effect on Hermione too. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Nor could Harry, Jay and Ron get much response from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.

Harry had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made him stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desk. After a hurried lunch, he went upstairs to meet Jay and Ron in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming towards him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly and sped off in the opposite direction.

Harry found Jay at the back of the library reading a book next to Ron who was measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three-foot long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards".

"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short …" said Ron furiously, letting go of his parchment which sprang back into a roll, "and Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's _tiny_."

"Where is she?" asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own homework.

"Looking for another book," said Jay sub-consciously.

"I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas," said Ron.

Harry told Jay and Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him.

"Dunno why you care, I thought he was a bit of an idiot," said Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible. "All that rubbish about Lockhart being so great and all –"

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to them.

"_All_ the copies of _Hogwarts: A History_ have been taken out," she said, sitting down next to Jay. "And there's a two week waiting list. I _wish_ I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in to my trunk with all the Lockhart books."

"Send Deilvtorm to your parents so they can send it back," said Jay throwing his book down on to the table.

"Why do you want it?" said Harry.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" said Harry quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else –"

"Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ron desperately, checking his watch.

"No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it."

"Jay, come on buddy old pal, you have about three and a half feet don't you?"

"He will not cheat for you," Hermione snapped before Jay could even open his mouth.

Jay just shrugged and said: "Hey I'd love to help you but I like my head were it is thanks."

The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on their timetable. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his class was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply gotten up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staff room fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming round long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss – er –?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms and Neville's elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, 'In September of that year, a sub-committee of Sardinian sorcerers –"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very _sensational_, even _ludicrous_ tale …"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns' every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see … the Chamber of Secrets …

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago – the precise date is uncertain – by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from the prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued, "For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But a disagreement sprung up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more _selective_ about the students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said, "but theses honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleashing the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns' classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is utter nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's hand was back in the air.

"Sir – what exactly do you mean by the "horror within" the Chamber?"

That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else _would_ be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing –"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it –"

"Just because a wizard _doesn't_ use Dark Magic, doesn't mean he _can't_, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore –"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't –" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built as much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to _history_, to solid, believable, verifiable _facts_!"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual stupor.

*

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told Harry, Jay and Hermione, as they fought their way through the teeming corridors. "But I never knew he stared all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've gotten the train straight back home."

Jay and Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn't say anything. His stomach had just dropped unpleasantly.

Harry had never told Ron, Hermione or even Jay that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting _him_ in Slytherin. He could remember it, as though it was yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in his ear when he'd placed the hat on his head a year before.

"_You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that …_"

But Harry, who had already heard of Slytherin house's reputation for turning out dark wizards, had thought desperately, "Not Slytherin!" and the hat had said, "_Oh, well, if you're sure … better be Gryffindor …_"

As they were shunted alone in the throng, Colin Creevy went past.

"Hiya, Harry!"

"Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically.

"Harry – Harry – a boy in my class has been saying you're –"

But Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him towards the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, "See you, Harry!"

"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione wondered.

"That I'm Slytherin's heir, I expect," said Harry, his stomach dropping another inch or so, as he suddenly remember the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from him at lunchtime.

"People here will believe anything," said Ron in disgust.

The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione.

"I don't know," she said frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs Norris which makes me think that Jay's theory about it not being human is true."

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message "The Chamber has been Opened."

"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered.

They looked at each. The corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his bag and getting on his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues.

"Scorch marks!" he said. "Here – and here –"

"Come and have a look at this!" said Hermione. "This is funny …"

Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling apparently fighting to get through a small crack in the glass. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione wonderingly.

"Yeah," said Jay, "in movies."

"No," said Harry, "have you, Ron? Ron?"

He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back, and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.

"What's up?" said Harry.

"I – don't – like – spiders," said Ron tensely.

"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. "You've used spiders in potions loads of times …"

"I don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window, "I just don't like the way they move …"

"Oh, come on Ron," said Jay reaching up a hand and grabbing one of the last spiders to go though the crack. "They're more scared of you than you are of them." He stretched out his hand with the spider in it for Ron.

"Get it way from me!" cried Ron, hitting Jay's hand away from him, making the spider fly out of it and land on the floor.

"You know," said Jay rubbing his hand. "Spiders have feelings too."

Hermione giggled.

"So you do like me," said Jay drawing himself up.

"I'm laughing at Ron, not with you," said Hermione rolling her eyes.

"It's not funny," said Ron, fiercely. "If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my – my teddy bear into a dirty great spider because I broke his toy broomstick. You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your teddy bear and suddenly it had too many legs and …"

He broke off, shuddering. Jay and Hermione were obviously trying not laugh. Feeling they had better get off the subject, Harry said, "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointed. "Level with this door."

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly, "that's the _girl's_ toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione, standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look."

And ignoring the large "Out of Order" sign, she opened the door.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked and spotted mirror were a row of chipped, stone sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the cubicles were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off towards the end cubicle. When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

Harry, Jay and Ron went to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating on the cistern of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

"This is a _girls'_ bathroom," she said, eyeing Harry, Jay and Ron suspiciously. "_They're_ not girls."

"No," Hermione agreed. "I just wanted to show them how – er – nice it is in here."

She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

"Ask her if she saw anything" Harry mouthed at Hermione.

"What are you whispering?" snapped Myrtle.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "We wanted to ask –"

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. "I do have feeling, you know, even if I am dead."

"Myrtle, no ones wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry only –"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. "My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you'd seen anything funny lately," said Jay quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your bathroom on Halloween."

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm – that I'm –"

"Already dead," said Ron helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over and dived head first into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight; from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

"Honestly Ron, you have no girl skills at all," said Jay shaking his head.

"Is she always like that?" asked Harry with his mouth open.

Hermione shrugged.

"That was almost cheerful for Myrtle … come on, let's go."

Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all four of them jump.

"RON!"

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, perfect badge agleam, and an expression of complete shock on his face.

"That's a _girls'_ bathroom!" he gasped.

"We've gathered," said Jay, frustrated.

"What were you doing?"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know …"

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of Mrs Weasley.

"Get – away – from – there –" he said, striding towards them and starting to chivvy them along, flapping his arms. "Don't you _care_ what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner…"

"Why shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"

"That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled; I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out. You might think of _her_, all the first years are thoroughly over-excited by the business –"

"_You_ don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were reddening now. "_You're_ just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy."

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more _detective work_ or I'll write to Mum!"

And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears.

*

Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a very bad temper and kept blotting his charms homework. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed _The Standard Book of Spell, Grade 2_ shut. To Harry and Jay's surprise, Hermione followed suit.

"Who can it be, though?" she said in a quite voice, as though continuing a conversation they had just being having. "Who'd _want_ all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Well if it involves getting rid of you …" said Jay dreamily.

"I'm being serious," said Hermione punching him in the arm.

"So am I."

Turning away from Jay, Hermione said to Harry and Ron: "Who do you think?"

"Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks all Muggle-borns are scum?"

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

"If you're talking about Malfoy –"

"Of course I am!" said Ron. "You heard him: 'You'll be next Mudblood!' Come on, you've only got to look as his foul rat face to know it's him –"

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" said Hermione skeptically.

"Look at his family," said Harry, closing his books, too. "The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin, he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin descendants. His father's definitely evil enough."

"They could've had the key to the Chamber Secrets for centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son …"

Jay cracked up laughing.

"You mean a key like the ones Muggle uses," he started to laugh harder. "I don't think Salazar Slytherin would close the Chamber of Secrets with a lock and key –"

"We're – not – talking – to you," said Hermione crossing her arms and legs.

"Fine," said Jay doing the same.

"So you think Malfoy's the heir?" Ron asked Hermione.

"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible …"

"But how do we prove it?" said Harry darkly.

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glace across the room at Percy. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect."

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" said Ron irritably.

"Alright," said Hermione. "All we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realising it's us."

"But that's impossible," said Harry, as Ron laughed.

"If there's a will, there's a way," said Jay.

Hermione shot him an evil glare.

"It can be done," she said. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."

"What's that?" said Ron and Harry together.

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago –"

"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" muttered Ron.

"It's a potion that can turn you into somebody else," said Jay.

Against her will Hermione said yes

"So we can turn into four Slytherins," she continued. "No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we can hear him."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron, frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like four of the Slytherins forever?"

"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently, "but getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called _Moste Potente Potions_ and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."

There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: you needed a signed note of permission from a teacher.

"Hard to see why we'd want the book, really," said Ron, "if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions."

"I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance …"

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to be really thick …"


	27. 2:10: The Rogue Bludger

Hey guys. Man schools sucks so bad, :) so many assignments. Can't wait till the holidays! Anyway, next chapter in the story … Jay's first Quidditch match I believe …. Ooooo, I wonder how he will go? (lol, I already know, but you don't so sucked in :P)

– CHAPTER TEN –

The Rogue Bludger

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his book to them, and sometimes re-enacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. If he hadn't had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, he would have refused to do it.

"Nice loud howl, Harry – exactly – and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced – like this – _slammed_ him to the floor – thus – with one hand, I managed to hold him down – with my other, I put my wand to his throat – I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm – he let out a piteous moan – go on, Harry – higher than that – good – the fur vanished – the fangs shrank – and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective – and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.

"Homework: compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga werewolf! Signed copies of _Magical Me_ to the author of the best one!"

The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back of the room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting and Jay, who looked like he was using all of his self control not to speak out.

"Ready?" Harry muttered.

"Wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously. "Alright …"

She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron were right behind her. They had decided it would be best for Jay to wait outside seeing as Lockhart didn't fancy him as much us the others.

"Er – Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to – to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. "But the thing is it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it – I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms …"

"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favourite book. You enjoyed it?"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione enthusiastically. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer …"

"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student in the year a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and pulled out an enormous peacock feather quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. "I usually save it for book signings."

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.

"So, Harry," said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag, "tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but I preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if you ever feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players …"

Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then hurried off after Ron and Hermione.

"Did he do it?" ask Jay, parting from a group of flattered looking girls. "Did you get the signature?"

Hermione held out the signed note.

"He didn't even _look_ at what book we wanted," said Harry.

"That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who cares, we've got what we needed."

"He is not a brainless git," said Hermione shrilly. As they half ran towards the library.

"Just because he said you were the best student in the year."

"Yeah you see," said Jay, "that just proves he _is_ a brainless git because _I'm_ the best student in the year."

Hermione kept on walking fast but Harry noticed that her chest had fallen.

"But you did a good job on getting the book," said Jay, who had also noticed Hermione's disappointment.

They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness of the library.

Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture.

"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go.

"I was wondering if I could keep it," she said breathlessly.

"Oh, come on," said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if it stands still long enough."

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and mouldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her cubical, but they were ignoring her, and she them.

Hermione opened Moste Potente Potion carefully, and the four of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustration, which included a man who seemed to have been turned in side out and a witch was sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.

"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly, as she found the page headed _The Polyjuice Potion_. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Harry sincerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.

"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione, as they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches fluxweed and knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves. Oooh, look, powered horn of Bicorn – don't know where we're going to get that … Shredded skin of Boomslang – that'll be tricky too – and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."

"Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking _nothing_ with Crabbe's toenails in it …"

Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him.

"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last …"

Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, who had another worry.

"D'you realise how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of Boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea …"

Hermione shut the book with a snap.

"Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine," she said. There were bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes were brighter than usual. "_I_ don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in …"

"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," said Ron. "Alright, we'll do it. But no toenails, OK?"

"How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harry, as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.

"Well, as the Fluxweed has got to picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days … I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."

"A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've got,

so full steam ahead, I say."

However, while Hermione was checking the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry and Jay, "It'll be a lot less hassle if you two just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow."

*

Harry woke early Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the up coming Quidditch match. He was nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the fasted racing brooms gold could buy. He had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying there with his insides churning, he got up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where he found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table. Five of them were looking uptight and not speaking much but Jay greeted Harry with a very enthusiastic wave and patted the seat next to him.

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry and Jay good luck as they entered the changing rooms. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes and then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.

"Slytherin have better brooms than us," he began, "no point denying it. But we've got better people on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers –" ("Too true," muttered George Weasley. "I haven't been properly dry since August") "– and we're going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.

"It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry because we've got to win today, we've got to."

"So no pressure, Harry," said Fred, winking at him.

As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherin in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch, "three … two … one …"

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upwards, the fourteen players rose towards the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.

"All right there, Scarhead?" yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom.

Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting towards him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

"Close one, Harry!" said George, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back towards a Slytherin. Harry saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in mid-air and shot straight for Harry again.

Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard towards Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed towards the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this, it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible.

Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course.

"That's done it!" Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong, as though it was magnetically attracted towards Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed.

It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses. He didn't have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, fifty points to twenty."

The Slyhterins' superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of air. Fred and George were now flying so close to him on either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms and had no chance to look for Snitch, let alone catch it.

"Someone's – tampered – with – this – Bludger –" Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on Harry.

"We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at the same time.

Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out and Harry, Fred and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.

"What's going on?" said Wood, as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?"

"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger murdering Harry, Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it – it won't leave Harry alone, it hasn't gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it."

"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then …" said Wood, anxiously.

Madam Hooch was walking towards them. Over her shoulder, Harry could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction.

"Listen," said Harry, as she came nearer and nearer, "with you two flying round me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve," said Harry. "Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."

"No way," said Jay, firmly. "It will tear you to pieces."

Wood was looking from Harry and Jay.

"Oliver, this is mad," said Kate Bell angrily. "You can't let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let's ask for an enquiry –"

"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said Harry.

"Better than you losing your head," said Jay glaring at Harry.

"We're not losing to Slytherin just because of one mad Bludger! Come on, Oliver; tell them to leave me alone!"

"This is your entire fault," George said angrily to Wood. "'Get the Snitch or die trying' – what a stupid thing to tell him!"

Madam Hooch had joined them.

"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.

Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face.

"Alright," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry – leave him alone and let him deal with Bludger on is own."

But just as the teams were about to take of again Jay said to Harry, "You die up there and I'll bring you back to life just so I can kill you again."

Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed. He looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open. Rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostril as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as he could. He began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood …

A whistling in Harry's ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy, as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in mid-air to dodge the Bludger. Off Harry fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him: and then, glaring back at Malfoy in hatred, he saw it, _the Golden Snitch_. It was hovering inches above Malfoy's left ear – and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn't seen it.

For an agonising moment, Harry hung in mid-air, not daring to speed towards Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.

WHAM!

He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side. The Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face. Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: _get to Malfoy._

Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.

"What the –" he gasped, careering out of Harry's way.

Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his finger close on the Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with his leg and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out.

With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle. Riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.

"Aha," he said vaguely, "we've won."

And he fainted.

He came round, rain falling on his face, still lying on the pitch, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.

"Oh no, not you," he moaned.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly, to the anxious crowd of Gryffindor pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."

"_No!_" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks …"

He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.

"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.

"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times."

"Why can't I go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through clenched teeth.

"He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I'd say."

Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and George Weasley, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.

"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling his jade-green sleeves.

"No – don't –" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.

A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn't dare look at what was happening. He had shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his worst fears were realised as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt any more – but nor did it feel remotely like an arm.

"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the Hospital Wing – ah, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger and the other Potter, would you escort him? – and Madam Pomfrey will be able to – er – tidy you up a bit."

"What have you done to him?" shrieked Jay. "Do you even know how to do _one_ simple spell? How you got the Defense Against the Dark Arts job is beyond me? Come on Harry."

Harry felt Jay pick him up and carry him out of the stadium. Harry felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep breath he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him pass out again.

Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-coloured rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened.

Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.

*

Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second – but growing them back –"

"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.

"I'll be able, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pyjamas. "You'll have to stay the night …"

Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Jay and Ron helped him into his pyjamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.

"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called through the curtain as he

watched Jay try and pull Harry's limp fingers through the cuff. "If Harry had wanted de-boning he would have asked."

"Anyone can make a mistake," said Hermione. "And it doesn't hurt any more, does it, Harry?"

"No," said Harry, "but it doesn't do anything else, either."

"And you heard what Madam Pomfrey said, it's painful re-growing bones," said Jay. "But you know what; I think Lockhart thought he could do it right."

Harry and Ron looked wide mouthed at Jay; even Hermione peered around the curtains to see Jay.

"What I mean is, I think he's played the part of being this good looking, brave, smart, caring person for so long he actually thinks he _really_ has done all those things in his books and can do all this really advanced magic."

"He _has_ done all the things in his book, Jay," said Herminie. "Why would he have taken up the Defense Against the Dark Arts job if he couldn't? Wouldn't he want to hide the fact that he can't do it?"

"Because he thinks he can do all those things," said Jay and added as though it was an after thought, "and he wants to sell more books. Imagine how many books he has sold just because it was on our school book list."

"You can't judge him," said Hermione defensively. "You haven't even read his books."

"I don't have to read his books," said Jay. "He's doing a splendid job in showing us what a talented wizard he is."

Hermione went to reply but Harry said: "Just drop it, ok. What's done is done."

He swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly.

Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. She was holding a large bottle of something labeled "Skele-Gro."

"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a very nasty business."

So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry's mouth and throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Still tutting about dangerous sports and incompetent teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated; leaving Jay, Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water.

"We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "Those were some goals you made Jay, Slytherin didn't even see you coming with the fourth … and the catch you made Harry … spectacular …"

"Me and you were the only ones to score points for Gryffindor," said Jay, raising his hand for a high five but removed it quickly as he was on Harry's right side.

"I want to know how Malfoy fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly.

"We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. "I just hope it tastes better than this stuff …"

"If it's got bits of Slytherin in it? You've got to be joking," said Ron.

The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry.

"Unbelievable flying, Harry," said George. "I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy."

They had brought cakes, sweets and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Harry's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!"

And Harry was left alone, without nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm.

*

Hour and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch-blackness and gave a small yelp of pain: his arm now felt full of large splinters. For a second, he thought it was that which had woken him. Then, with a thrill of horror, he realised that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

"Get off!" he said loudly, and then, "_Dobby!_"

The house elf's goggling tennis-ball eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his nose pointed nose.

"Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?"

Harry heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away.

"What're you doing here?" he said. "And how did you know I missed the train?"

Dobby's lip trembled and Harry was sized by a sudden suspicion.

"It was _you_!" he said slowly. "_You_ stopped the barrier letting us through!"

"Indeed yes, sir," said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterwards –" he showed Harry ten, long, bandaged fingers, "– but Dobby didn't care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and _never_ did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!"

He was rocking backwards and forwards, shaking his ugly head.

"Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir …"

Harry slumped back onto his pillows.

"You nearly got Jay, Ron and me expelled," he said fiercely. "You'd better clear off before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you."

Dobby smiled weakly.

"Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home."

He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore; looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself.

"Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked curiously.

"This, sir?" said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "'Tis a mark of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his master presents him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever."

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter _must_ go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make –"

"_Your_ Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more. "What d'you mean _your_ Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?"

"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"

"Oh, is that all?" said Harry angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why_ you want me sent home in pieces?"

"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, us dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He Who Must Not Be Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elfs were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like vermin, sir," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He Who Must Not Be Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's powers was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sir … And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are about to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, not that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more –"

Dobby froze, horror-struck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight, a second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby …"

"So there _is_ a Chamber if Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And – did you say it's been opened _before_? Tell me Dobby …"

He seized the elf's bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched towards the water jug. "But I'm not Muggle-born – how can I be in danger from the Chamber?"

"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned for this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen. Go home, Harry Potter. Go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too dangerous –"

"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on Dobby's wrist to stop him hitting himself with the water jug again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"

"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"

"I'm not going anyway!" said Harry fiercely. "One of my friends is Muggle-born; she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened –"

"Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" moaned Dobby, in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not –"

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry heard it too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified; there was a loud crack, and Harry's fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back into bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.

Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed and out of sight. Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Another attack," said Dumbledore. "Minerva found him on the stairs."

"There was bunch of grapes next to him," said Professor McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak down here to visit Potter."

Harry's stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.

It was Colin Creevy. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.

"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think … If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate, who knows what might have …"

The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and prised the camera out Colin's rigid grip.

"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly.

Dumbledore didn't answer. He prised open the back of the camera.

"Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey.

A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

"Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly, "all melted …"

"What does this _mean_, Albus," Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

"It means," said Dumbledore, "the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth, and Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.

"But Albus … surely … _who_?"

"The question is not _who_," said Dumbledore, his eyes fixed on Colin. "The question is, _how_ …"

And from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall's shadowy face, she didn't under-stand this any better than he did.

**And now you do :) good for you, you got it out of me :P, it was very hard wasn't it? :P. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter, please review, thanks everyone!**


	28. 2:11: The Duelling Club

Sorry guys that it's taken this long to get this next chapter out to you, school work and work and friends are very demanding :P. Lol, jokes my wonderful friends, love you all :D. Anyway, hope you enjoy this next chapter and it was worth the wait, see you next time and please review :)

- CHAPTER ELEVEN –

The Duelling Club

Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory blazing with winter sunlight and his arm re-boned but stiff. He sat up quickly and looked over at Colin's bed, but it had been blocked from view by the high curtains Harry had changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then began bending and stretching his arm and fingers.

"All in order," she said, as he clumsily fed himself porridge left-handed. "When you've finished eating, you may leave."

Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor tower, desperate to tell Jay, Ron and Hermione about Colin and Dobby, but they weren't there. Harry left to look for them, wondering where they could have got to and feeling slightly hurt that they weren't interested in whether he had his bones back or not.

As Harry passed the library, Percy Weasley strolled out of it, looking in far better spirits than last time they'd met.

"Oh, hello, Harry," he said. "Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor have just taken the lead for the House Cup – you and Jay earned hundred points!"

"You haven't seen Jay, Ron or Hermione, have you?" said Harry.

"No, I haven't," said Percy, his smile fading. "I hope Ron's not in another _girl's toilet_ …"

Harry forced a laugh, watched Percy out of sight and then headed straight for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He couldn't see why Jay, Ron and Hermione would be in there again but after making sure that neither Filch nor any prefects were around, he opened the door and heard their voices coming from a locked cubicle.

"It's me," he said, closing the door behind him. There was a clunk, a slash and a gasp from within the cubical and he saw Hermione's eye peering through the keyhole.

"_Harry!_" she said. "You gave us such a fright. Come in – how's your arm?"

"Fine," said Harry and, as he stepped into the cubical, was taken back to see that the wall between the one they were in and the one next to it had been removed.

"Had to take out the wall," said Jay, who was sitting on a toilet reading _Moste Potente Potions. _"We hardly fitted in here to start with let alone you. I don't think anyone will mind, it's not like people come in here anyway."

Harry closed the door. An old cauldron was perched on the other toilet, and a crackling from under the rim told Harry they had lit a fire beneath it. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was a specialty of Hermione's.

"We'd've come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the Polyjuice Potion," Ron explained. "We've decided this is the safest place to hide it."

Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Hermione interrupted. "We already know, we heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick this morning. That's why we decided we'd better get going –"

"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," snarled Ron. "D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match; he took it out on Colin."

"The knotgrass and stir it eight times clockwise. You know what I think?" said Jay, as he told Hermione what to do next. "I don't think its Malfoy."

"What?" said Harry, Ron and Hermione together.

"You heard Dumbledore the night Miss Norris was attack 'no second year could have done this'."

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared.

"Then why are we doing this?" snapped Hermione, viciously tearing up the knotgrass and throwing it into the pot.

"For fun?" shrugged Jay but as he looked at Hermione he quickly added: "And I might be wrong so better safe than sorry. The leeches next."

"Something else happened," said Harry, trying to stop the evil looks Ron and Hermione were giving Jay. "Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night."

Jay, Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry told them everything Dobby had told him – or hadn't told him. Jay, Ron and Hermione listened with their mouths open.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened _before_?" said Hermione.

"This settles it," said Ron in a triumphant voice. "Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told dear old Draco how do it. It's obvious. Wish Dobby'd told you what kind of monster is in there, though. I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking round the school."

"Maybe it can make itself invisible," said Hermione, prodding the leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it can disguise itself – pretend to be a suit of armour or something. I've read about Chameleon Ghouls –"

"Lacewings," interrupted Jay.

"You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, pouring the dead lacewings on top of leeches. He crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and looked round at Harry.

"So Dobby stopped us getting on the train and broke your arm –"

"Don't forget the Whomping Willow," added Jay.

"There's not Whomping Willow on the ingredients list," said Hermione, pulling the book away from Jay.

"No, the tree Harry, Ron and me crashed into at the start of term. Keep up Hermione." said Jay, taking the book back.

"And the Whomping Willow," Ron said shaking his head. "You know what, Harry? If Dobby doesn't stop trying to save your life he's going to kill you."

*

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the school like a wild fire and by Monday morning the air was suddenly thick with rumour and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking it in turns to cover themselves with fur or boils and jump out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal and a rotting newt-tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger: he was a pure-blood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

"They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face fearful, "and everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."

*

In the second week of December, Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione signed her list; they heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very suspicious. The holidays would be a perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him.

Unfortunately, the potion was only half-finished. They still needed the Bicorn horn and the Boomslang skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Snape's private stores. Harry privately felt he'd rather face Slytherin's legendary monster than have Snape catch him robbing his office.

"What we need," said Hermione briskly, as Thursday afternoon's double Potion lesson loomed nearer, "is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need."

Harry, Jay and Ron looked at her nervously.

"I think I'd better do the actual stealing," Hermione continued, in a matter of fact tone. "You three will be expelled if you get in anymore trouble, and I've got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so."

Harry smiled feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.

Potion lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon's lesson proceeded in the usual way. About twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who was Snape's favourite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry, who knew that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you could say "unfair".

Harry's Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on more important things. He was too nervous and anxious to listen to Snape paused to sneer at his watery potion and when Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione caught Jay's eye and nodded.

Jay, who had finished his potion and was now up at the front of the class talking to a group of girls, nodded back. Harry saw him reach into his robes and swished his wand so nobody but those who knew what he was doing could tell.

At that moment, Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class in Swelling Solution. People shrieked as splashes of the potion hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of dinner plates, while Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip quietly out of the door.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft. When I find out who did this …"

Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. As half the class lumbered up to Snape's desk, some weighed down with arms like clubs, other unable to talk through gigantic puffed-up lips, Harry saw Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.

When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swelling had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron but didn't find what he was looking for.

"How did you do this?" Snape snapped at Goyle.

Goyle looked gob-smacked.

"Did you add the unicorn tail before the dragon blood? Or did you just let it boil over?"

All Gryffindor were now trying to hold in their laughter as Snape started to yell at Goyle for his incompetence. The bell that rang ten minutes later was such a disappointment to them because they were having so much fun watching Goyle scratch his head, trying to figure out what went wrong.

"Nice spell work Jay," said Harry, as they hurried back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "Goyle didn't know what hit him."

"Nor did Snape," said Ron.

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldrons and began to stir feverishly."

"It'll be ready in a fortnight," she said happily.

"I can't believe he didn't know it was you," Ron said to Jay.

"Should do it every lesson and see how long it takes for him to realises it's me."

"We'd get bored before that happens."

They all laughed as the potion frothed and bubbled.

*

A week later, Harry, Jay, Ron and Hermione were walking across the Entrance Hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

"They're starting a Duelling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days …"

"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron, but he too read the sign with interest.

"Could be useful," he said to Harry, Jay and Hermione as they went to dinner. "Shall we go?"

Harry, Jay and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o'clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione, as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young, maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not –" Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can you all hear me? Can you all _see_ me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant Professor Snape," said Lockhart. Flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we began. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered in Harry and Jay's ear.

"I wouldn't count on it," said Jay. "I don't think I've seen Lockhart do real magic before."

Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at _him_ like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hand, where as Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding out wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast out first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.

"Be good if he would," whispered Jay.

"One – two – three –"

Both of them swung their wands up and over their shoulders. Snape cried: _"Expelliarmus!"_ There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: he flew backwards off the stage, smashing into the wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherin cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's alright?" she squealed through her fingers.

"Who cares?" said Harry, Jay and Ron together.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I've lost my wand – ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see …"

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me …"

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry, Jay and Ron first.

"Time to split up the three musketeers, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter –"

Harry moved automatically towards Jay.

"I don't think so," said Snape, smiling coldly. "Jay will be going with Blaise Zabini, you, Potter, will be going with: Mr Malfoy. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, – Miss Granger – you can partner Miss Bulstrode."

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked two other Slytherins: a tall boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes and a girl who reminded Harry of a picture he'd seen in Holidays with Hags. She was large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile, which she did not return.

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform, "and bow!"

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent – _only_ to disarm them – we don't want any accidents. One … two … three …"

Harry swung his wand over his shoulder, but Malfoy had already started on two: his spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he'd been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, _"Rictusempra!"_

A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.

"_I said disarm only_!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move from laughing. Harry hung back, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake. Gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked; _"Tarantallegra!"_ and next second Harry's legs had begun to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quickstep.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.

"_Finite Incantatem_!" he shouted; Harry's feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing and they were able to look up.

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Jay was leaning up against a wall, over an unconscious Blaise Zabini; Ron was holding up an ashen-faces Seamus, apologising for whatever his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain. Both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. A blast came from Jay and Millicent went flying through the air.

"So pigs _can_ fly," said Jay, as he helped Hermione to her feet.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you get, Macmillan … careful there, Miss Fawcett … pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in second, Boot …

"I think I'd better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the mist of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round pink face went pinker. "How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

"Now, Harry," said Lockhart, "when Draco points his wand at you, you do _this_."

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops – my wand is a little over-excited."

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked too. Harry looked nervously at Jay and whispered, "What do I do?"

"Just say _Protego_!" he whispered.

"Scared, Potter?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.

"You wish," said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry."

"What drop my wand?"

But Lockhart wasn't listening.

"Three – two – one – go!" he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "_Serpensortia_!"

The end of Malfoy's wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it. It fell heavily onto the floor between them and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye-to-eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it …"

"Allow me?" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight towards Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He wasn't even aware of deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as though he was on castors and that he had shouted stupidly at the snake: "Leave him!" And miraculously – inexplicably – the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn't attack anyone now, though how he knew it, he couldn't have explained.

He looked up at Justin, grinning, expecting to see Justin looking relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful – but certainly not angry and scared.

"What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: it was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn't like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.

"Come on," said Ron's voice in his ear. "Move – come _on_ …"

Ron steered him out of the hall, Jay and Hermione hurrying alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Harry didn't have a clue what was going on, and neither one of them explained anything until they had dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room. Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, "You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm a what?" said Harry.

"A _Parselmouth_!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!"

"I know," said Harry. "I mean that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once – long story – but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to. That was before we knew we were wizards …"

"A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated faintly.

"So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it."

"Oh no they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad."

"What's bad?" said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. "What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin –"

"Oh, that's what you said to it?"

"What d'you mean? You were there … you heard me."

"I heard you speaking Parseltongue," said Ron, "snake language. You could have been saying anything. No wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something. It was creepy, you know."

Harry gaped at him.

"I spoke a different language? But – I didn't realise – how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?"

"Magic," said Jay sadly.

Ron and Hermione looked as though someone had died and Jay had a very worried looked on his face that reminded him of the way Snape was looking at him just before. Harry couldn't see what was so terrible.

"D'you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a dirty great snake biting Justin's head off?" he said. "What does it matter _how_ I did it is as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?'

"It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin house is a serpent."

Harry's mouth fell open.

"Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson so something …"

"But I'm not," said Harry; with a panic he couldn't quite explain.

"You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."

"Why are you saying _could be_?" said Jay. "the prove is right here. If Harry's related to Salazar Slytherin, then I'm related to him to him as well and if I'm related to him, why can't I speak Parseltongue?"

"You heard Harry hissing?" said Ron.

"Well he wasn't speaking English."

"Maybe Jay missed out on that gene," Hermione said unsurely.

"Maybe …" said Harry.

*

Harry lay awake for hours that night. Through a gap in the hangings round his four-poster he watched snow starting to drift past the tower window, and wondered.

Could he be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin? He didn't know anything about his father's family, after all. The Dursleys had always forbidden question about their wizarding relatives.

Quietly, Harry tried to say something in Parseltongue. The words wouldn't come. It seemed he had to be face to face with a snake to do it.

"Harry," whispered Jay's voice to his right, "are you still awake?"

"Can't sleep."

The curtain surrounding Harry's bed opened and he felt Jay sit down at the end of his bed.

"Heard you speaking, thought we needed a chat," said Jay.

"Do you think we are the descendant of Salazar Slytherin?" asked Harry.

"The Sorting Hat put us in Gryffindor. Why would it do that if we have Slytherin blood?"

Harry thought for a moment and said: "The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin."

"Sorry," said Jay, cleaning out his ear. "I must have some wax in my ear. What did you say?"

"It only put me in Gryffindor because I asked it too," said Harry. "Did it want to put you in Slytherin, too?"

"Ah, no," said Jay. "It was debating between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw so I asked it if I could be put in Gryffindor with you."

Harry rolled over. What was happening to him? Why was he showing signs of a Slytherin?

"Well at least we know your not opening the Chamber," said Jay.

Harry didn't say anything.

"Goodnight, Harry." Harry felt Jay's weight leave the end of his bed.

Harry turned over. He'd see Justin next day in Herbology and he'd explain that he'd been calling the snake off, not egging it on, which (he thought angrily, pummeling his pillow) any fool should have realised.

*

By next morning, however, the snow that had began in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of term was cancelled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Hermione used their lesson off to play a game of wizard chess and Jay was, with no surprise, reading a book.

"For heaven's sake, Harry," said Hermione, exasperated, as one of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. "Go and _find_ Justin if it's so important to you."

So Harry got up and left through the Portrait hole, wondering where Justin might be.

The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime, because of the thick, swirling grey snow at every window. Shivering, Harry walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a look, Harry walked on by, thinking that Justin might be using his free lesson to catch up on some work, and decided to check the library first.

A group of the Hufflepuffs who should have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn't seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves, Harry could see that their heads were close together and they were having what looked like an absorbing conversation. He couldn't see whether Justin was among them. He was walking towards them when something of what they were saying met his ears, and he paused to listen, hidden in the invisibility section.

"So anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to the Potters he was Muggle-born. Justin actually _told_ them he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?"

"You definitely think it is the Potters, then, Ernie?" said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.

"Hannah," said the stout boy solemnly, "Harry is a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, "Remember what was written on the wall? _Enemies of the heir Beware._ Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Filch's cat has been attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know, Creevey's been attacked."

"He always seems so nice, though," said Hannah uncertainly, "and his brother …" The girls in the group started to giggle. "…can't speak Parseltongue."

"As far as we know," said Ernie. "He isn't dumb enough to spread it around like his brother."

"But Harry is, well, the one who made You Know Who disappear," said Hannah. "He can't be all bad, can he?"

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie's words.

"No one knows how he survived that attack by You Know Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark Wizard could have survived a curse like that." He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, "_That's_ probably why You Know Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord _competing_ with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?"

Harry couldn't take it any more. Clearing his throat loudly, he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. If he hadn't been feeling so angry, he would have found the sight that greeted him funny: every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been petrified by the sight of him, and the colour was draining out of Ernie's face.

"Hello," said Harry. "I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley."

The Hufflepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.

"What do you want with him?" said Ernie, in a quavering voice.

"I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Duelling Club," said Harry.

Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, "We were all there. We saw what happened."

"Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?" said Harry.

"All I saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, "was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake towards Justin."

"I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. "It didn't even _touch_ him!"

"It was a very near miss," said Ernie. "And in case you're getting ideas," he added hastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so –"

"I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"

"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with,' said Ernie swiftly.

"It's not possible to live with the Dursley and not hate them," said Harry. "I'd like to see you try it."

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.

Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where he was going, he was in such a fury. The result was that he walked into something very large and solid, which knocked him backwards onto the floor.

"Oh, hullo, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up.

Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.

"Alrigh', Harry?" he said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. "Why aren't yeh in class?"

"Cancelled," said Harry, getting up. "What're you doing in here?"

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

"Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear, an' I need the headmaster's permission ter put a charm round the hen-coop."

He peered more closely at Harry from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows.

"Yeh sure yeh're alrigh'? Yeh look all hot an' bothered."

Harry couldn't bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about him.

"It's nothing," he said. "I'd better get going, Hagrid, it's Transfiguration next and I've got to pick up my books."

He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said about him.

"_Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to the Potters he was Muggle-born …_"

Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draught that was blowing through a loose windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.

He turned to squint at what he'd fallen over, and felt as though his stomach had dissolved.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight Harry had ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's.

"Harry, I've been looking for you everywhere, we've got Tranfig –?"

Harry turned around to see Jay standing, wide mouth, at the end of the corridor, taking in the strange sight.

"Jay,' said Harry desperately, "I didn't do it, I swear."

"I know Harry,' he said picking Harry off from the ground. "The Heir of Slytherin strikes again."

"Malfoy," said Harry.

"It doesn't matter," said Jay. "What matters is, where not found around here. Everyone thinks we're the Heir of Slytherin and if we're found here … well it doesn't help our case."

"Look!" said Harry, pointing down to the floor. "Spiders! Fleeing from the bodies!"

"Well unless you can talk to spiders too and they can tell you who attacked them, that's not really important, so let's go."

"We can't leave them here," said Harry.

"The bells about to go, they will be found then."

Harry nodded slowly but before they had taken a step, a door right next to them opened with a bang. Peeves the poltergeist came shooting out.

"Why, it's the potty wee Potters!" cackled Peeves, knocking Harry's glasses askew as he bounced past them. "What are the Potters up to? Why are the Potters lurking –"

Peeves stopped, halfway through a mid-air somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and before Harry or Jay could stop him, he screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"

Crash – crash – crash: door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry and Jay found themselves pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black and white striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.

"_Caught in the act_!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry and Jay.

"You want to say that again?" said Jay, hand itching towards his wand.

"That will do, you two!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:

"_Oh Potters, you rotters, oh what have you done,_

_You're killing off students; you think its good fun –_"

"That's enough Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backwards, with his tongue out at Harry and Jay.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry, Jay and Professor McGonagall alone together.

"This way, Potters," she said.

"Professor," said Harry at once, "I swear we didn't –"

"This is out of my hands, Potters," said Professor McGonagall curtly.

They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

"Sherbet lemon!" she said. This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life, and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of dread for what was coming, Harry couldn't fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase, which was moving smoothly upwards, like an escalator. As he, Jay and Professor McGonagall stepped onto it; Harry heard the wall thud close behind them. They rose upwards in circles, higher and higher until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry could see a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffon.

He knew where they were being taken. This must be where Dumbledore lived.


End file.
